


Changes

by Wonderbagel



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2020-10-17 05:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20615405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderbagel/pseuds/Wonderbagel
Summary: A look at what might have been on Obi-Wan's mind after the loss of Qui-Gon as well as his first days as Master to Anakin. I use a lot of modern curse words just to help get my point across, so apologies for that!





	1. First Days

“Wow, twenty-three.”

A woman's voice snaps me back from my dazed reverie, back into the world. “What?”

“Twenty-three was the youngest master. Looks like there was also a twenty-four, twenty-eight, thirty-two…” she keeps scrolling through her screen. “So yeah, you’re not the youngest, but pretty darn close. And the youngest I’ve seen in as long as I’ve been working here. That’s really something.”

She smiles politely up at me and I force one back. A hand touches my shoulder and the Republic secretary rises with a wide grin. “Master Windu, welcome. Everything is ready for you guys.” I jump to my feet, but before I can offer my bow, he grips each of my shoulders and stares thoughtfully at me. “You’re early. Did you get any sleep last night?”

“A little,” I lie. I panic as he seems to scan my face for signs of fatigue so I blurt out, “you ready?”

He lets go and silently nods, heading toward the door with me in trail. We sit down, but the secretary remains standing on the other side of the desk, enthusiastically stacking papers and pamphlets in little piles for each of us.

“Both your copies are identical, and I’ve flagged where each of you need to sign and initial. Most of what I gave you is just informational, but the packet on top is the actual contract. Please do read it through, but it’s quite simple.” She suddenly looks toward me and I flinch. “Mr. Kenobi, this is just to acknowledge the cessation of your apprenticeship and the subsequent acceptance of your new position as ‘Master’ for Mr. Skywalker.”

I sneak a glance over at Mace, and he gives me a tired smirk and a half eye roll. He grabs his pen and starts reading, so I open my packet. “_Apprenticeship terminated on 12 April due to reasons of incapacitation of former master…_” my face flushes and I stifle a gasp. I let my eyes zone out, staring ahead into empty space as I pretend to flip through the pages, focusing on breathing in and out as slowly as I can. I scratch my initials and signature at each little red sticky tab and get to the end far too quickly. I just stare at the last page until I can catch Mace closing his packet from the corner of my eye and do the same. I take a slow breath to steady my heart rate. The secretary takes our folders and there's a shuffle of papers, signatures, and nods and words between her and Master Windu that sound like they're coming from far away or under water. When Mace smiles and rises, shaking the secretary's hand, I get up and offer mine as well.

She suddenly grips my hand tightly with both of hers before I have a chance to pull away and my throat hitches in surprise. Her eyes are intense. "Congratulations," she spells out each syllable purposefully. "I truly wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you," my voice cracks.

I race to catch up to the flutter of Mace's dark wool cloak. In the hall, he turns to me again and smiles. He has a new smile for me now. There's a twinge of pity that he seems very self-conscious about. And I've suddenly regressed into that awkward little kid that first met him 15 years ago. Nothing can destroy a professional relationship quite like one finding the other sitting on the floor, legs sprawled with another man cradled in his lap, sobbing, refusing to move like a petulant child no matter how hard the other pulls and cajoles. And now I'm supposedly a Knight, closer to him in rank than I've ever been.

"Hey I'd like for you to not fight me on what I'm about to ask." He finally says.

I grow hot with nervousness, and try to force a laugh. "Give me the benefit of the doubt. What is it?"

"I'd like you to come to the medical ward. I know you did a brief triage when we first arrived last night, but apparently you ran out of there before they could really do a good evaluation on you. And they mentioned your bandaging was only meant to be temporary. Can you please do me this favor and let me take you?"

"Um, sure. No problem, master." He gives that awkward smile again and pats my shoulder as we walk. Why does he have to go with me? Why is he even taking the time out of his day to personally escort me? Why is this so important to him? And what exactly does he mean by 'evaluation'?

I concentrate on slowing my breaths again as we arrive at the medical ward, Mace holding the large glass door open for me with a polite wave of his hand. It seems we were expected. Mace smiles and greets several nurses who step out from behind the front counter, clipboards in hand and already suited up with gloves and masks. I grip my hands in front of me tightly, digging my finger nails into the skin. I debate how angry or disappointed he’d be if I lied about having an appointment and ran out. “Come on down with us,” a nurse calls to me and gestures down the hallway. Too late.

They lead me to a room and gesture again for me to jump up onto the table. The paper crinkles absurdly loud as I struggle up like a child in a large chair. For whatever reason, Mace takes a seat on a chair right beside me and I try not to look at him.

Once nurse looks down at my chart as he speaks. “So it looks like you were admitted last night for triage after the Battle of Naboo. You received dressing for your saber wound and were evaluated for a concussion. Did you lose consciousness at all yesterday?”

I pause for a moment and scan my memory. I see flashes of red, and green, and blue. Black clothing flapping around a form flipping through the air. Falling. Did I lose consciousness? No, I got up, and I ran. Too slowly. My face grows hot and I feel the sting of tears. “I, um…” I stutter. I truly don’t remember how I got here. I remember being here last night briefly. Being overwhelmed by tiny flashlights shined into my eyes and incessant movement and the groans and screams of hundreds of Naboo fighters and I ran. How did I get here? I remember holding him, stroking his hair. I remember Mace finally prying my arms off of him, paramedics closing in on his body like predators on a fresh kill. Mace holding my arm to steady me down the hall as I sobbed. I remember being light headed, the floor flying up at me. I gasp. “Yes, I did.”

“But I caught him. He didn’t hit his head.” Mace adds. I can’t bear to look over at him.

“Well that’s good,” the nurse says. “We did observe dilatated pupils and slow reaction times, so my guess was you were mildly concussed. All we ask is you take it easy for a few days. No training and only very light exercise. You’re very susceptible to worsening it for a while. Could you please lay back?”

I wince in surprise. She places her clipboard on the table and the other nurses close in. One looks all too eager and says, “I can’t believe you’re our first patient with a wound from a Sith blade. No one has walked into this ward with such an injury in a millennium!”

When I don’t move, Mace rises and places his hand on my shoulder, pressing down gently. “It’s OK,” he says.

I swallow a deep breath and lay back, clutching my hands awkwardly on my chest as the last pairs of hands are snapped into latex gloves and my shirt begins to be lifted until my bandaged stomach is bear and I shiver in the sudden cold. I can’t seem to stop shaking as they remove the first layers. “Now as I get down to the bottom layer, this will hurt,” the main nurse warns. “Your wound was weeping pretty badly last night and may have fused to the gauze.”

I force a smile at her. “Alright. No problem.”

The gentle unfurling of cotton turns to searing pain as I feel skin being ripped. I gasp and unclutch my hands, but before I can reach one down, it’s grasped by Mace’s hand and squeezed tightly. “_Take a deep breath. Relax. Let them do their job_.” He speaks softly, wordlessly through the force.

I catch a glimpse of red and black soaked bandaging being tossed into a nearby trash can. “Now I need to clean and debride this wound, follow it up with ointments, then rebandage. Unfortunately, this procedure will need to be repeated over the course of the next few weeks. Just hang in there with me and this will get easier and easier every time, I promise, OK?”

I can see her eyes smiling above her mask so I force one back, along with a weak “OK.”

All this for the merest graze. I remember him swiping the blade. I also remember springing back, and just a light sting, the smell of singed cloth. That’s it. I feel hot ointment spreading over, and it’s surprisingly soothing. They press a large piece of thick gauze over my stomach and it absorbs the goopy, hot liquid instantly. One nurse sweeps it several times over with an air dryer, and it feels uncomfortably dry and abrasive. “Ready?” one nurse suddenly asks. Before I answer, Mace presses his hand down on my shoulder as if rehearsed, and several nurses grip one end of the gauze and tear it off in one quick rip. I can’t help but gasp and whimper in pain before my other hand flings up to cover my mouth.

“You did awesome!” one nurse praises, like a Master to a Youngling. I can only smile back politely as I fight to regain my composure. “Now we have probably about five more rounds. Until it looks like most of the dead skin is removed for today, so just hang in there with us, and we’ll be done before you know it!”

Five rounds. Fuck. “Okay,” I gasp, gripping the side of the table hard in one hand, the other still being firmly held by Mace. I feel the prick of angry tears behind my eyes again. Why does he have to be here!? What sick little game is he playing at? Is he trying to put me back in my place, make sure I don’t get too much pride after what happened? The way he always used to do with Qui-Gon, and I was caught in the cross-fire. I remember his face, eyes wide in shock, mouth open in a silent scream. His strike impaled him, bored right through. If you think this is bad, what about what he felt, you little wimp. Always feeling sorry for yourself. Typical. 

I resolve myself into total silence, only letting myself wince with each rip as I stare up at the ceiling tiles to search for a pattern in the design. I feel the glorious smear of cool ointment, followed by the soft bandaging. When they finish, Mace helps me to sit up and I stifle my gasp into a long, casual exhale of breath. The nurses finish up wrapping my exposed abdomen, and then each add their gloves and masks to the pile of skin-covered gauze in the bloody trash can. Gratefully, I let my shirt fall.

As the nurses leave, one remains, calling for another doctor on the PA. She walks in shortly after, not clad in the same scrubs as the others, but long, gray satin robes. A Mind Healer. What in the hell is this?

“Thank you so much, why don’t you take a break?” she says to the nurse, who smiles, nods, and quickly exits, closing the door behind her.

“Now,” the Mind Healer takes a seat on a rolling stool and pulls out a small folder. “My name is Nat. I know how exhausted you must be. Can I just ask you a few quick questions for my assessment and I’ll let you get on with your day?”

Her smile is so sweet I can’t help but agree. “I understand the basics of the situation, so you don’t have to go through all that again if you don’t want to. If you do, please by all means feel free to talk about it, that’s a big part of why I’m here. I’m here for you in whatever capacity you require.”

I cringe imperceptibly.

“I understand you were able to sleep last night, how was it?”

My little white lies spread fast. “Well not really, but I slept a little bit.”

“Would you say it’s due to any nightmares?”

“Maybe, I don’t really think I remember. The whole night was a bit of a blur.”

“That’s alright. If that changes, please do let me know. Especially if they start to interfere with your ability to sleep.” She looks back down at her opened folder. “Are you experiencing any intrusive memories?”

“Of what?” Jesus, Obi, is it really necessary to be so rebellious with her? It’s like some sort of default mode.

“Well,” she looks surprised. As if she’s about to ask if I remember what happened. Suddenly she leans in closer and her voice gets softer, “I read through your after-action report. I understand your Master was slain right in front of you and you were unable to intervene. Master Windu also stated that he was found dead in your arms. Did he pass in front of you?”

“What the hell is this?” The words fly out of my mouth, and I watch myself jump down from the table from outside my body. I’m so sorry, Nat.

“Whoa, hold on. Let’s be courteous. Give her a chance, Obi-Wan.” Mace has stood as well, raising his palms and staring intensely.

My face flushes hot, “I’m so sorry. I just don’t want to get into this, I didn’t mean to be rude.” I feel like I’m about to cry again, goddamnit.

“Oh trust me, I don’t take it personally,” she smiles. “And I totally get it. I usually find with my patients that it helps to get straight to the point and not beat around the bush. To address the elephant in the room for them, so they don’t have to. But really, for now, all I need to know is if this is coming up for you in the form of unwanted flashbacks. Do you find that you are avoiding the memories?”

I almost see Mace smirk and nod out of the corner of my eye. “Well, yes, it’s like you said I’m just not ready to talk about it or go there just yet. I’m still…processing.”

She looks like she’s about to ask more so I interrupt her. “Besides, I really just want to know how my new Padawan is getting on. I understand he was seen at this clinic last night, too, and I really meant to spend this morning meeting with him.” The word ‘Padawan’ catches in my throat.

“He was seen for minor bumps and bruising, but he’s doing well.” Mace answers. “He was escorted to the Padawan ward last night and roomed with a few boys, whom apparently he’s making fast friends with.” Mace looks at his watch, “they should be just having breakfast now. We have time.”

I start to feel panicked. “Well maybe then I should take advantage of the opportunity to rest a little bit more. Since I couldn’t really last night.” I turn to Nat, who’s smiling in a defeated but amused way. “I think I’m just too tired to go through this now, is that alright?”

“Of course,” she nods with eyes closed. “But I’d like another chance to speak with you.”

“Oh definitely,” I say as I make my move for the door.

“Obi-Wan,” Mace’s stern tone halts me. “I’ll be following up to make sure you keep your promise. By tomorrow, understand?”

“Yes, Master,” I say with a meek bow, and glide out the door and down the hall. I feel as though I’m floating, feet not touching the floor. The world flies past me in a jumbled haze and I hold in my breath until I’m safely through the threshold of the med ward doors. Thank God it’s early. It’s easy not to catch any attention from the few people out and about as I hurry to my quarters with eyes downcast.

  
.  
.  
.

I lean up against my closed door and let the silence cover me like a heavy cloak. I let out a sigh of breath and realize my heart was racing. The room is gloriously silent. Just the steady hum of traffic through the thick glass of the window. My sheets are still half draped on the floor. I look at the clock; I still have almost an hour before Anakin is done with breakfast. He might even want to linger to talk to his new friends. Would he take my room? And I move to Qui-Gon’s? Or I stay put and he takes his? That would be easier, it would make sense. But I can’t stand the idea of anyone else in his bed. The thought of him especially.

_“I’ll train the boy…”_ He didn’t even look at me.

I still have my folder. I know full well what I’ll find, but I am curious. I take it to the bed. Full color glossy pamphlets and packets courtesy of the bureaucrat’s wet dream that was the Republic’s generous appropriation of our administrative functions. Funny how their help has somehow created a monster. “_Welcome to Knighthood._” Jesus Christ. I flip through and see the packet of forms Mace and I were signing. I never really read it. With trembling hands, I pull it out. _“The undersigned assumes the duties of ‘Master’ to Anakin Skywalker. This agreement automatically terminates mentorship status under Master Qui-Gon Jinn due to reasons of (select): deceased.”_

I gasp, snap the packet closed, and stare slack-jawed at the window. I’m motionless sitting on the bed. A gentle beam of light through the half-lowered shades pierces the dark room. No sound but the drone of traffic, my quiet panting, the ringing in my ears.

One hour. In one hour, the merciless innocence of my old life will be shattered when I step into the dining hall and exchange that first bow with him. Can I just sit here forever? If I refuse to come out, refuse to meet him, then did it really happen?

Jesus fucking Christ, I’m 25 years old. Why hasn’t anyone said anything? Why has no one stepped in and stopped this madness? Why are we going on the words of a dying man, when the brain is shutting down and the neurons were probably flooded with the last-ditch flash of activity and misfiring in God knows what way?

His last words weren’t even about me. No “I love you.” No “goodbye.” From the second that boy stepped into our lives I didn’t even get a passing glance. His last words were about him.

I rear up and hurl the folder at my dresser. It explodes on impact, papers flying out everywhere. “You bastard!” I scream.

I sink to my hands and knees, lightheaded. My chest starts to convulse in silent sobs and I lower my face to the floor until I’m so starved for air I gasp for breath and a whimpering cry finally escapes.

“I can’t do this,” I sob. I look up to the ceiling, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Tears streak down my cheeks and I shake my head, “I can’t do this.” I keep expecting to see him floating up there somehow. An apparition, blue eyes sad, long brown hair dangling down, unspeaking.

“How can this be your plan for me? What the hell were you thinking?!”

I wait. Silence. The distant hum. Happy, oblivious people out there. My scanner beeps and I jolt, scrambling to my feet. I steady my breathing and sniff back up the river of snot, “Kenobi.”

“Hey Obi-Wan, it’s me again,” it’s Master Windu.

“Oh, hello master.”

“Thought you might want to know that young Skywalker got pulled into assessments with the council. Should take about four hours or so. Target of opportunity I suppose. I’m so sorry to keep delaying your meeting, I know he’s expressed how eager he is to get settled in with you.”

I pause for far too long. “Kenobi, you there?” the comm device crackles.

“Yes! Sorry, master, I was just…taking it in. Sounds good. I’ll take him back to our quarters after he’s done. He’ll probably want to rest.”

“No training right out the gate, you are a merciful teacher!” Mace laughs. Oh fuck, I’m being too passive and lazy. My first decision as a master already screwed.

“Yeah, well…” I try to laugh, too.

“Hey I better get in there and join the council. Don’t stay in that room too long today. I think it could…get to you.” All cheer was gone from his voice.

“Not a problem, I’m actually just leaving now.”


	2. Cleaning Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan cleans out Qui-Gon's room...

I open the door quietly, like he's still in there asleep and I don't want to wake him. It has that smell. The essential oil diffuser probably hasn't run in a few weeks, but it still smells sweet. Comforting, like you just want to sink in and spill all your secrets. His room had the balcony. Few in the temple do. A fluke. Maybe this room was meant for someone really revered. Instead it went to the black sheep, probably by accident. It's probably a long-forgotten feature.

I need sound and movement. I open the balcony door. The wind tears into the room, sending papers aflutter and chilling me to the bone. Sounds of rustling leaves from his plants. Neglected leaves turning yellow or brown, some hitching a ride on the wind to come tumbling into the room. But I don't care. It makes the room seem happier. Like there's something alive here.

"_What are going to do with it all?"_ Quinlan asked me in the supply room when I went to gather cardboard boxes. I suppose I'll stash them in my room, in the closet. So I can't see it, but it's not lost. _"You really should get rid of it,"_ he said to me in a hushed tone. Like he was embarrassed for me. Possessions and attachments to material things are the more dirty of bad habits, but Qui-Gon was the only one who owned the word "collection". No one even questioned it. If these were found in my closet, I'd be given a talking to, like I had a problem. I was hoarding, they'd tell me.

I walk through the room slowly, brushing my fingertips over the stones, small tin cup, strings of prayer flags, spent ammunition shells, glittering jewelry. Each a relic to our missions. A working reference. The relics I recognize, shared missions. The ones I don't, I wasn't there. From his past? Or missions he went on without me during my time as his apprentice? I'd never know. There was never a key or journal to go with any of this. The information sealed in his head, now lost forever. Maybe it'll be up to me to create a written source. For the archives? That stinks of some kind of betrayal. These things were meant to be touched, enjoyed, lived with. Not tucked away behind glass or catalogued deep in the catacombs never to be seen by human eyes again.

I look around the room and sigh. Everything is unmoving, waiting. Particles of dust glitter gently through the air in the beams of light streaming through the blinds. This is going to take forever. A deep sadness sinks over me. Just get it done fast. Get out of this room. And don't take it, give it to the kid.

I kneel down at the first set of shelves and carefully but quickly start piling the items in one at a time. No rhyme or reason, no order, just whatever will fit into the spaces in between. I get to drawers of papers and feel utterly overwhelmed. Should I look through them, see what's worth salvaging and what can be thrown away? There's no way all of this will fit in my closet. I feel a deep lump in my throat and have to take a few deep breaths. Fuck it. I jump up to grab one of the huge garbage bags and start sweeping my arm through the shelves and dumping dislodged drawers upside down into the bag. A small note on lined paper flitters to the floor and my heart stops.

I drop the bag and carefully pick up the worn, browning note. _"I have to do this. I may not be the right person, but The Young need somebody. Anybody. I'm so sorry. I love you so much and will always be grateful to you. I wish you the most happiness with your new Padawan. Love, Obi-Wan."_

I sink down onto the bed, the note trembling in my fingers. I swear I see old stains of tears in the paper. I can't believe he kept this. I remember leaving that note on his bed in Melida/Daan. We fought all night, screamed at each other. That was the first time I saw him in tears.

"_Fine, do what you want!"_ he turned and retreated into his room, slamming his door.

"_It's not about what I want. It's about what needs to be done. You of all people should understand this!" _I remember screaming after him, at a closed door.

And then I left. I wandered the streets all that night, soaked without a cloak in the rain, wrestling with extreme self-doubt. I thought I'd sneak back in that morning to pack, to avoid an awkward encounter. But when I got there his door was open. I peeked into an empty room, tangled sheets on his bed. He was already gone. I packed up my things in tears, and stalled at the door. I didn't want to leave it that way. I remember scribbling the note, panicked that he could return at any moment and was still too afraid to face him. I set the little paper on his bed and left.

And it's in my hands now, over ten years later. All that time lost. Those years I could have been with him. The years it took to earn back his trust, his love. Wasted.

But he kept it. It's been a member of his collection for all these years. Where each item and scrap of paper held a special meaning and memory to him. I broke his heart. But he still loved me. Probably never stopped. I squeeze the paper hard, almost crumpling it and hold it to my face. With closed eyes and tears gushing down my cheeks, I kiss the note hard. "God I miss you."


	3. Making Dinner

With a deep breath, I release the door handle and let it click closed. I feel exposed, naked. Like gravity is suddenly gone and I need to grab the handle again and hang on for dear life as everything around me floats off into space. I paw at my eyes again to ensure any last little drop of moisture is gone, pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders, and stuff the old folded poster from Qui-Gon’s room deep into my pocket. I head into the grand hall, walking as quickly and resolutely as I can possibly convey. Jedi who once may never have known I existed are now making eye contact, smiling, nodding. Like in approval. I smile and nod back, praying each time no one talks to me.

I hurry down the steps and can hear from the roar of voices there’s already a crowd gathering in the sparring hall. People huddled together, whispering in excitement, some indifferent and looking on skeptically. I push past to make my way to the front line.

Anakin is smaller than I remember. The grand marble columns and multi-story windows of the sparring hall seem to swallow him up. He stands with his head slightly bowed, arms dangling limply at his sides, a look of utter exhaustion and hesitance on his face. Not at all the headstrong, if not hypervigilant, little tinkerer I met on Tatooine. The one who apparently commandeered a ship and engaged in old-world dog fighting like the best of them. I feel a sudden urge to rush to him, wrap my arms around him, and say he’s had enough for one day thank you very much. Is it my responsibility to step in? He’s still technically in the final stages of his assessments. I’m not even really supposed to be here.

The moment seems to have come. Master Mundi finishes speaking inaudibly to him, rises to his feet, and places a training lightsaber gingerly in Anakin’s hand. He steps back and places the blaster simulator on its pedestal several feet away, and tucks his hands into his robe sleeves expectantly. “Just like I showed you,” I can barely hear Ki-Adi say with a nod, and Anakin presses the button that brings the sabre to life with a quiet hum. The light is colorless, translucent; barely powerful enough to cut paper.

The blaster simulator turns on and begins shooting small beams of light slowly at first, then more rapidly as Anakin effortlessly meets each one with his sabre. Despite abysmal form, and an admittedly adorable habit of sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration, he’s not missing a single shot. Ki-Adi shuts off the machine, and then approaches Anakin again, offering him a blindfold. Anakin has that look of worry once more, but ties the satin cloth around his head. Once again, he meets each blast with perfect timing and precision. His mouth is slightly agape below the blindfold, as if he’s equally stunned at his own ability.

“Seems you got your work cut out for you- that little tongue move! Ugh!” I hear beside me. I look to see Quinlan’s smiling face. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.

I feel a rush of joy cut through my numbness that I haven’t felt in days. “I suppose so. Or maybe this boy will surpass me in a matter of months and then I’ll really be screwed. I suppose I could always show him how to crochet.”

Quinlan laughs so loudly the other’s in the makeshift audience throw him firm glances. “I promise you’ll be fine. Let’s not forget just yesterday the council almost deemed him a lost cause. It’s hard to somehow screw him up any lower than that.” He winks ruefully.

“Well, gee, thanks,” I blush down at the floor.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. How are you doing?” His tone changes.

At that simple little question, I feel tears rush to the backs of my eyes like a dam burst, so I just keep staring ahead at Anakin. “Well, I’m keeping busy. I have Anakin’s room all ready. Nervous to reunite. I think we spoke maybe 5 words between us since meeting.” I begin to whisper in mock shame, “and half of that was probably just glares from me.”

Quinlan giggles again, but behind his cupped hand. “Yeah, I remember you complaining about him.”

“Complaining?” I say outraged. “What the hell do you mean, I never complained about him?”

“Well you did it classic Obi-Wan style. I remember we were chatting on Messenger when you were looking for that part on Naboo since I was working Logistics that day. I asked you what the kid was like and you said something along the lines of ‘I’m far too busy, I barely register he’s there’.” He says that last bit in a mock, highfalutin accent.

“Oh my God, Quinlan, you read far too much into that. He’s a nice kid. We just barely knew each other before, that’s all. I mean this is going to be awkward, I can’t lie to you.”

“Dear God, he’s opening up! Don’t say any more yet, I need to get a pen and write this down!”

I punch him playfully in the shoulder.

“Don’t worry. You’ll do great. Just relax and don’t try to force it. Let him come to you, so to speak. Don’t forget he just got ripped from his family and home-world at such formative age. He’s probably gonna be hard to get out of his shell, frankly.”

Not to mention he lost his chance at being Qui-Gon’s charge. I saw his eyes go bright with awe whenever Qui-Gon entered the room, how he flew to his side like a magnet. I’m his sloppy seconds, his backup plan. An ill-equipped, grossly underqualified one at that. This is going to be a complete disaster. Just best to keep that kid in one piece and alive before I fail so miserably he’s finally transferred to a new master. When that day comes, I’ll probably sigh in relief. And then jump off a roof.

The sound of applause snaps me awake. Master Mundi is taking the deactivated lightsaber from a beaming Anakin and placing his hand on his shoulder. To my utter horror he’s leading Anakin right toward me. I look over my shoulder to check I’m not just blocking their exit, but when I look back, Master Mundi is locking eyes with me and smiling. Oh fuck, it’s time. I throw on a fake grin and finally look at Anakin, who’s also smiling and blushing, with a few drops of sweat on his brow and a paleness to his skin. The others in the room soon all turn to look at us. Some smile, some still look skeptical. But all are silent, expecting.

Master Mundi looks down at Anakin. “Are you ready to join with your new Master, young one?”

Anakin nods, “I am.” His voice is so much more diminutive than I remember.

I choke on hundreds of different words competing to fling out of my mouth at once. The room is still torturously silent. Anakin breaks the tension by offering a hesitant bow. I flush with embarrassment, and just bow back. Just then the room erupts in applause again at our unplanned, impromptu little ceremony. I reach out and Anakin walks toward me to allow his shoulder to meet my hand. It seems the natural thing is to get him out of this crowd, so I keep my hand on his shoulder and lead him out of the sparring hall. As we head up the stairs and down the hall, the heat and pressure of all those bodies begins to dissipate and I can breathe again.

I struggle to think of what to say, and settle on attempting to at least satisfy his basic needs. “Are you hungry? Or tired?”

To my surprise he beams up at me, “both, actually.”

Thank God. I smile in relief. “Well not a problem. I’ll show you your new quarters and I can fix you something.”

When we enter the common room of our quarters, Anakin stands gawking at his surroundings. “Wow,” he drags out the word.

I begin to laugh, thinking he’s joking, but he looks at me with confusion and I realize I’ve just made fun of a slave boy whose squalid conditions would make this look like a palace. “I’m so glad you like it,” I improvise.

“Your room will be over on this side,” I gesture to Qui-Gon’s old door. “It has a balcony! One of the few rooms in the temple that does,” I put my finger to my lips in a feigned shared secret and he smiles. “There’s some old plants and flowers there that could really use some love. The bathroom is over there, and you can shower while I cook us up some dinner. Your fresh clothing is lain out on your bed. The tunic and belt system are a little complicated, so if you have questions, you can ask. And I think the boots might be a little uncomfortable at first.” I rub the back of my neck, “they take some time to break in, but you’ll like them. They’re waterproof and have excellent traction.”

Anakin stares up at me and I realize I just rambled out totally useless information in a kind of aneurism of awkwardness. Thankfully he just smiles and heads to the bathroom.

Qui-Gon handled most of the cooking. I usually was responsible for rising a little earlier to fix us a simple breakfast of plain porridge, and mid-day meals were usually up to us, which generally meant it was skipped. By evening I was usually ravenous, and might return to the quarters to a welcoming aroma of some complicated dish Qui-Gon was preparing. A recipe perhaps collected from his many travels. He thirsted for knowledge of customs, language, and traditions of native peoples. Many a time I’d have to pry him away from a teahouse or hookah bar and remind him we weren’t there for cultural immersion.

Nervously, I retrieve our solitary pan from the small cabinet, set it on the burner and poured in oil. I open our ice chest to see what the kitchen staff stocked for us. An assortment of vegetables and bean patties. Not too complicated. I hear the shower turned on, and the faint sound of humming. I smile.

As I chop and add items to the sizzling heap in the pan, my shoulders loosen more and more, and my chest loses some of its constriction. I carefully stir the jumbled items, adding small increments of oil and seasoning, until each thing feels thoroughly soft under the poke of my spatula. Flicking off the burner, food is transferred to two plain white bowls, and the table is modestly set with utensils, napkins, and two glasses of water. I look upon my masterpiece and let out a sharp, long gasp of air. One of the longest days of my life is now on its way to being over.

Surely enough, Anakin emerges after his shower with a frown and an undone belt. I laugh as non-mockingly as I can and show him the method. Dinner passes almost wordlessly, but Anakin tucks into his food so enthusiastically I bet he barely registers I was there, and I am incredibly thankful. He seems to barely keep his eyes open as he helps me with the dishes, and I soon have to encourage him to go to sleep. I think about going in with him, possibly tucking him in in some way, but I can’t seem to walk through the threshold of the door again. It’s officially his room now. Anything else is a distant memory. So Anakin just smiles, wishes me goodnight, and carefully clicks his door shut, leaving me to bask in the aching silence.

I dread the idea of going to bed. Of lying awake for hours, completely alone with my thoughts. I sit back at the table and pull out the instructional book on ancient Jedi teaching philosophy Master Windu left for me at my door with a note, ‘thought you’d be interested.’ After hours of reading, the words begin to dance around the page, and I rub my eyes between thumb and index finger. I still can’t go into that room. I remember there are still a few papers strewn on the floor, the bed is probably still a mess and soaked in sweat. I get up and fill the kettle with water, turning it on. I pull out a small white mug and begin to fill a sachet with leaves of green Akiva tea.

The folded and crumpled note still sits heavy like a rock in my pocket. I meant to find Mace and ask him about it. I pull it out again and read it:

‘STOP THE REPUBLIC: BABY SNATCHERS! Meeting at the Shingdo Temple, 21:00. Share testimony, and become a part of the growing movement to stop these horrendous crimes.”

The rest of the message is lost to faded ink. Why would Qui-Gon have this in his room? Why would he keep this? Was this a cause he wanted to investigate? And I can understand the traffickers we’ve had dealings with in the past to be “baby-snatchers,” but the Republic itself? I don’t understand how that’s possible.

Through the slight shriek of the tea kettle, I hear a stirring in Anakin’s room. I quickly shut the kettle off and strain to listen. I hear sniffling, the sounds of muffled sobs. Oh my God.

I walk to the door and briefly consider knocking, but instead just open it slowly and carefully. “Anakin?”

He’s sitting in the small chair beside the bed, legs curled up into his chest, face half buried behind his knees. He says nothing but looks at me, sniffling. I walk over to him and kneel down at his feet, placing my hands on his shins, rubbing them slightly. “Hey, it’s OK.”

His face contorts in misery and he begins to sob again. I feel panic rise in my chest and I grab each of his shoulders, coaxing him to sit on his bed where I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He buries his face deep into my chest and I feel my shirt quickly soaking as his cries grow louder. No words form again, so I just squeeze him tighter and rub his back awkwardly.

“Hey, it’s completely OK to miss your mother. I’m so sorry you had to experience such a loss.”

“It’s…not…her.” He says between gasps for breath.

“What?” I place my hand under his chin and lift his face to mine, “what do you mean?”

“I miss Qui-Gon.”

I freeze, dropping my jaw in shock. The tears flood my eyes again and before I can do anything, they begin to drip down my cheeks. I hesitate. This is a teachable moment. A prime opportunity for a lecture on attachments, giving one’s soul to the Force, the endless cycle of life, the quiet stoicism of the Jedi way.

“I miss him, too.” I whisper. I draw his face back into my chest, and rock him gently. As he cries, I let drops of my own tears soak into his hair and stare out the window, watching the endless streams of ships glistening in the moonlight.


	4. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chancellor messes with his head...

No one in the room but me. And him. A ring of marble floor surrounded by a ring of empty chairs, in a ring of windowed walls. For whatever reason he sits in Yoda’s seat, at the center chair in the far end of the circle. Silent, head lowered, boring his once soft blue eyes through strings of stray hair hanging in his battered, stark-white face. He’s unmoving, unspeaking, seething, gripping his hands tightly on the arm rests. I can see the back cushion of his chair through the angry, bright red hole in his sternum.

I’m paralyzed, just sitting and forced to meet his intense gaze. I feel his rage, his hatred. He speaks without moving his lips. _You did this. You failed me. You should have run faster._

I start to hyperventilate and feel the tears fall. _I’m so sorry! Please, please forgive me._

The room begins shaking, the walls crumpling grotesquely and closing in. Glass shatters and sprays my face. I’m still frozen, unable to get my body to respond to my desperate need to escape. And still he stares, his chair shifting closer and closer to mine and I try to open my mouth to scream, but nothing happens. _You did this!_

Gasping, I spring up to a sitting position. I scan the room panting. I must have fallen asleep in the chair beside Anakin’s bed. Somehow, he slept through my noise. After such a rough night, he looks so peaceful. His little chest rises and falls under the sheet. His face is so tiny and sweet. I strain to listen and catch the smallest wheezing sound over the whir of ships passing outside. My breathing finally slows and I wipe beads of sweat off my forehead with the back of my cloak sleeve. Somehow like this, he seems far less menacing. When he’s awake, I feel so ill at ease, so anxious that I might say or do the wrong thing. His little blue eyes looking up at me, expecting, always just a little let down. Always expecting the same wisdom and self-assured calm that Qui-Gon carried and never getting it. Not even close.

It’s nearly time for my morning meeting at the Senate. I still have no plan for Anakin this morning. Off to a pretty pathetic start, Obi, well done. I get up and shake his shoulder a little too roughly. “Hey, it’s time to wake up.”

He groans softly, dragging his arm across his eyes and stretching out his legs. He opens his eyes and smiles at me. I can’t seem to smile back.

“Get dressed and meet me in the common room in five minutes, okay?”

His smile fades and that look of worry comes back to his face. Before he can say anything, I leave the room and close his door so he can change. I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. When I look up at the mirror I flinch. There’s a face there I don’t recognize. Sunken blood-shot eyes, pale skin, deep purple and green bruises. I realize I haven’t even looked in a mirror in probably several days. I bring my fingers to the bruises delicately. Still a little tender. It must have been when he kicked me, or when I fell off the skybridge. Before I jumped back up and ran too slowly.

“Anakin, you coming?” I call loudly and rush out of the bathroom.

After a few seconds, he comes bursting out of his door, still struggling with his belt. I taught him once, he’s on his own now. “Come on,” I say, heading toward the door. “We have a short amount of time before my meeting so let’s squeeze some training in.”

He follows me to the Sky Track, an intricate maze of running path suspended high up on the walls, spiderwebbing the length of the entire temple. “It’s very important that we build your base fitness in your new path toward Knighthood. I saw from your assessments you scored well in your aerobic testing,” no doubt from years of forced physical labor, “but we have to do better. We can always do better. Come on.”

I start running, and hear his footsteps right behind me, frantic and probably surprised at first, but eventually steady. We pass Jedi after Jedi, many of whom are just walking or jogging leisurely, grouped in pairs, chatting. Soon they become a blur as I pump my legs faster and faster. Miles pass as we're precariously raised sometimes one hundred feet above the grand halls below. I can reach out and slide my fingertips over the tops of the gigantic pillars; I can see people pass below like bugs. I feel the burn on my stomach protest bitterly, but I shut it out and run harder. The world is turning into a fog. My vision tunnels around the narrow track. _You should have run faster. You failed me._

“Master!” I hear the desperate call behind me. I screech to a halt and whip around to see Anakin doubled over, his hands on his knees gasping for breath. I jog back over to him, “I’m so sorry, I must not have heard you were lagging behind.”

“It’s okay, Master,” he says meekly.

Good job, kill the kid on your first day. That may be a new record. I reach out and touch his sweaty shoulder. “Hey why don’t we jog back to our quarters and we’ll get freshened up. You can help yourself to breakfast while I have my meeting, and we can meet after for some meditation. Sound good?”

He nods, but looks none too pleased about the jogging back idea. I’m careful to keep pace with him, and try to make friendly chatter like the others to occupy his mind. When we return, I splash a few handfuls of cold water on my face again, and quickly head for the door. While Anakin struggles to remove his stiff boots, I add, “if I’m not back within an hour, why don’t you head to the Padawan center? There are round the clock classes being held, so you can join one with the fourth or fifth years. Maybe go see your new friends.”

“Okay, sounds good, Master.” A sad look flashes across his face and disappears as quickly as it came.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon,” I add  
.  
.  
.  
Stass Allie nurses her cup of tea and smiles at Adi Gallia, who’s whispering some shared inside to joke to her. The two erupt in laughter, and Stass shoves her chest lightly in mock disapproval. Kit Fisto and Mace are standing at the window. I can’t hear a thing they’re saying, but their expressions are serious.

“You alright, Obi-Wan?” Quinton asks, suddenly sliding into the chair beside me.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

He says nothing but his face almost seems to be asking me ‘nightmares again?’

Just then the sliding door whirs open and she enters, magnificent grey skirt so wide the sides brush the doorframe. The delicate strings of white beads and jewels dance around her white painted face as she walks, glittering in the lamp light. Something happens when she dons these uniforms. Her face is always serious, but with a hint of defeat or resignation, like a wild tauntaun who’s finally broken and accepted his cumbersome collar and reigns. I feel a flash of pride having had a chance to see her bare and free, donned in simple tunics, running wild, wielding a blaster. Smiling and laughing. I’m one of the few that knows what her laughter is even like. So bubbly you just want to scream in delight.

She assumes her position behind her desk while the other delegates join us in the cluster of seats and tables. Kit Fisto and Mace join us as well, but Mace remains standing, bowing to Padme, to which she responds with a gentle bob of her head and the chime of her crystalline head dress.

“We have a message from our ambassador on Stewjon that I think may change our approach to this issue,” Mace says.

“Please, Master Windu, proceed,” her voice is nothing like I remember.

Mace walks over to the center table and places a holoprojector. A two-foot-tall, flickering blue Siri Tachi is suddenly standing on the table. My stomach lurches up into my chest and I can’t help but squirm in my seat. She begins speaking her pre-recorded message:

“The situation here appears to be devolving a little bit,” she says somberly. “Despite our council, the local government in the Salewa Province is proceeding with their town halls. They’re calling everyone together to discuss what they’re calling a ‘plan of action’ against the Republic. I really don’t think words are getting us anywhere here. They’re not listening to me or Barris anymore, in fact it feels like they’re beginning to freeze us out. They’re acting…” she looks over both her shoulders, “weird. Like overly friendly but at the same time incredibly stand-offish. I believe talks have completely broken down and they’re moving into the next phase. I recommend we send reinforcements and prepare for intervention.”

She suddenly disappears and the room falls into a brief silence. Padme has the smallest hint of concern sweep across her face. “I believe she may be right,” she says in her deep voice, “I believe it may be prudent to deploy more Jedi to Stewjon to be ready for what may come. Force may become necessary. At this juncture, however, I’d like further Intel. I’d like to know if they’re planning any terrorist activity, and if so, where.” Some of the other Republic delegates nod in agreement.

“That’s something we can easily manage,” Kit Fisto says. “Kenobi.” Suddenly the entire room shifts to look at me and my face flushes. “You might be a good asset on this mission. You’re originally from Stewjon, correct?”

“I-I am.” I’ve only ever really considered myself ‘from’ Coruscant.

Kit Fisto continues. “Well he might be instrumental in gaining a rapport. Perhaps a part of the problem is they’re no longer trusting of Jedi since they represent the Republic. In a sense. A sort of…local…might be helpful.”

Padme actually looks at me. I strain to stifle my smile. “I agree,” is all she says. “Perhaps just one or two more. The last thing we want is for them to become intimidated by your mobilization of forces. We don’t want them to feel threatened.” Suddenly she stands, and her handmaidens and fellow delegates do the same. She’s known for ending meetings this way. A sort of “Okay, I’m done now” manner. It makes me want to laugh; I rather love the efficiency of it. She’s never been one for appearances or posturing. A very refreshing break from most of her kind.

Each Jedi rises and bows in unison, then begins to gaggle together toward the door, chatting.

“Kenobi, stay back a second,” Mace calls after me. A similar panic rises in my belly. I wonder when this feeling that I’m in trouble when a Master summons me will ever go away. “For whatever reason,” Mace speaks slowly, shocked at his own words, “the Chancellor would like you to visit him in his office.” He almost seems to hiss the word 'Chancellor.'

“Oh,” is all I can seem to say. My face probably says it all.

“It’s likely to do with the events on Naboo. He may want to give you a more thorough thanks or congratulations, if I had to guess. But in any case, he requested only you.”

“Not a problem. I suppose I’ll meet you back at the Temple for mission planning. I do have a question, though. Would I be able to take Anakin with me?”

“Of course,” Mace nods. “That’s a good idea. It’s important for you to continue developing a bond. I would advise in keeping him out of the peace-keeping or Intel gathering operations themselves, though. He’s not ready for such a politically nuanced lesson, and we don’t want him possibly hampering anything with his inexperience.”

“Oh, certainly. I can easily devise some alternative programming, something easy he can do on his own. I think he’ll be really happy with this.”

Mace and I exchange bows, and I head through the sliding door toward the Chancellor’s wing. A secretary at the desk greets me with a smile, “good morning, Knight Kenobi. He’s been expecting you.”

She escorts me into the blood-red, velveteen office and announces my arrival to the Chancellor, who turns away from the window with a smile. I bow ardently.

“Good morning Chancellor. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

He begins to walk toward me with arms wide and for a moment I feel he’s going to hug me. He grasps each of my shoulders and smiles at me with that same restrained pity that Mace has. “My dear boy, I’m so glad you came by. Please, please take a seat. My secretary was kind enough to prepare us some tea, so please enjoy.”

I smile and sit down. My gnawing stomach overrides my protests for constraint, so I grab a mug and take a tiny sip. “Thank you for allowing me a visit, Chancellor.”

“Allowing you? You Jedi are so sweet sometimes. My boy, I asked you to come!” His eyes crinkle with laughter and immediately puts me at ease. “I wanted a chance to welcome you to your post as ‘Master’ to our newest young Jedi! I do this for all the new masters. You see, I’m very personally invested in the upbringing of our newest ranks and I love to see what each new master has planned. I find the individuality you each bring to this utterly fascinating.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of anyone coming to speak with you before.” I suddenly wipe the look of confusion off my face. “But I could be wrong, no has mentioned it at least.”

“Well you Jedi are among the most modest people I’ve had the honor of meeting, so I don’t it take it anyone would run back and brag about their personal meeting with the Chancellor.” He blows the steam from his tea.

“Our newest ranks” rattles around in my head. I can’t help but wince slightly. What does he mean by “our”? And even “ranks”? I know in the past he’s had more than a few Jedi mutter amongst the others suspicions of him seeing us as a sort of military of the Republic.

“I’m particularly excited to chat with you, I must say!”

“Really.” I laugh with embarrassment.

“Of course! The first Jedi to slay a Sith in over a millennium! And now Master to quite an unusual case. Once of the oldest Padawans in generations, and possibly what could be considered as “the Chosen One!” He whispers those words.

I feel a flush of annoyance and set down my mug, “Well that’s yet to be fully confirmed. But you are correct, we do have a very credible degree of evidence, and we’ll continue to evaluate him. At this point, it’s a wait and see.”

He smiles ruefully at me. “You Jedi. Always so humble, downplaying everything.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say-”

“And you of all people especially!” He interrupts me with a sudden flare of glee that catches me off guard. “I was looking through your records and noticed you were once passed over for Padawanship. You were on your way to the Agri-Corps if I read that correctly.”

“My…my records? I’m sorry, sir, but you have access to that?”

“Oh of course,” he waives his hand dismissively, looking almost annoyed I’d ask. “I’m just so impressed at your meteoric rise! From nothing to Master of the Chosen One!”

I suddenly feel done with this meeting. I take a heavy sigh and sneak a glance at the door.

“Oh look, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything like that,” his tone is soft, and he reaches out his hand to pat my knee. “I was just remarking at how unusual this situation is, and how…proud I am. But I just have to ask, do you have reservations?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you seem to be almost annoyed at my mentioning all this. Do you feel as though they made the wrong choice in assigning you such a role? Did they not properly prepare you?”

I can’t help but blurt out a stuttered laugh. “Oh goodness, no, that’s not what I meant. I trust the council’s decisions to the utmost. And I feel fully supported in this. Master Yoda is nearly never wrong.”

“Well as I heard it, he was outvoted. He didn’t even want this.”

My face flushes hot and I feel my throat closing up. I grunt, and have to look at the carpet when I speak, studying the individual red fibers, “I don’t believe I heard that. Are you certain you have the right information?”

“Why yes, that’s truly what I heard!” His excitement at being the recipient of such knowledge is utterly oblivious. Heard from who, exactly? Chancellor Palpatine is like the queen bee of a massive hive; we are nothing but his worker bees, bringing back the lifeblood of what constitutes his precious honey: information. We all know this, hence our many meetings reminding us to watch our operational security around him. So who would have leaked this?

“Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you by telling you this. I wish every Jedi was respected enough to know the truth more often. I hate the way you keep these sorts of secrets from each other.”

“Well, usually they’re for good reason,” I say more to myself than him.

He reaches out and clasps both my hands between his and my skin flushes. “You have my support, Kenobi. Master Yoda and some of the other Jedi may not believe in you, but I will be in your corner always. Don’t give in to their doubts. So you came from humble beginnings. So you are a bit young. So you aren’t the most particularly exceptional among your ranks. But you killed a Sith Lord!”

“Apprentice.”

“What’s that?”

“He was not a Sith Lord. He was the Apprentice.”

“Well,” the Chancellor finally releases my hands. “Still very impressive. And for which I and the people of the Republic am indebted to you.”

His comm device suddenly beeps. Thank God. “Oh dear, I’ve just been requested at the finance meeting. I’m so sorry, do you mind, dear boy?” He gestures a hand toward the door and I spring to my feat a little too eagerly.

“By all means, Chancellor. Thank you again for your time.” I bow with a sense of finality that I hope he picks up on. When I stand, he suddenly wraps his arms around me and I’m too stunned to move.

“Don’t let anyone fill you with doubt. Always remember you have someone in the Senate rooting for you.” He whispers in my ear.

“Oh…okay.”

He moves over to his desk and begins rooting through his drawers, pulling out several folders and slapping them in a stack on top. Without even being summoned, as far as I can tell, his secretary comes into the room and starts placing our half-full mugs and saucers on her tray. “Say hello to everyone for me at the Temple,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to see it. It sounds so spectacular.”

“Well, anyone is welcome for a visit.”

She smiles and starts speaking to me in a giddy way. I can’t hear a word. The room seems to fill with a huge pulse of air and I feel a deep sense of dread. I hear a distant rumble getting louder and louder. The sound of static; distant radio chatter.

_“Delta Kilo 4371, you are in a restricted zone, vector north 350 immediately or we will engage!”_

_“He’s not listening, control. Do you read?”_

_“Roger. You are cleared to engage. Target 280-20, 43 thousand…”_

The massive windows shatter; air is ripped from my lungs and my eardrums feel like they’re bursting. Exploding glass flies through the room and I reach out and shove the secretary to the floor, face down. I catch a glimpse of the Chancellor, desperately grabbing hold of his desk as chairs and small furniture flies out the window.

And past him, I see it. A horrifying mass heading toward us, blocking out the sun. Squinting, I struggle to make out what it is. Wings, antennae, a huge glass cockpit. And inside, a man. Eyes wide with terror, though I can see he has one hand on the throttle, pushing it forward and throwing his entire body weight into it. Trailing behind, two fighters, missiles dropping down from under the fuselage. Jesus Christ, no.

I hear a scream and I throw up my hands. There’s a burst of air, an explosive decompression that throws the Chancellor to the floor. I grunt in strain and feel my feet being forced back as I struggle to dig them into the carpet. The ship begins to slow and I see my hands in front of me trembling violently. I can make out the faded painted letters on the ship’s nose as it slows to a halt inches from the wide-open windows, shards of glass still clinging to the frames. And he locks eyes with me, both of our chests heaving. The two fighters halt as well, hovering several feet back. One pilot removes his helmet visor and stares with his mouth hanging open.

Suddenly the man flings off his seatbelt and struggles over the controls toward his window. I can’t help but pant loudly now as I struggle to hold the ship aloft, panic rising. He opens his window and squeezes his body through one limb at a time.

“Wait!” I yell. The ship is too far out, he’ll never make it if he ties to jump inside. But he doesn’t try. He just slips his whole body through the window and lets himself drop like a rock. He doesn’t even scream. In a split second, he’s gone.

I can’t bear the weight anymore. The ship begins sinking and I let out a panicked yell. Hands still held out in front of me, I stagger closer to the window to find a place to let it drop. Probably forty feet below I spot a landing port with several empty taxi ships parked in neat rows. It will have to do. The ship is dropping fast; I just strain to slow it’s fall. It hits the concrete with a horrific screech of metal. I hear the smaller ships crumple beneath it. A fireball erupts, and I have to throw myself back into the room, the intense heat radiating my back. I lay there face down for several moments, struggling to catch my breath, the smell of acrid smoke filling the room.

I make out several uniformed figures entering the room, some grabbing their heads or covering their mouths in shock. There’s a frenzy of voices, alarms, and movement. Someone rushes to the passed-out secretary and to the Chancellor, who sits up and grabs his head in pain.

I get my knees under me and see a small pool of blood in the carpet. I reach up and wipe my nose, inspecting my fingers to see more blood. I feel the room swirling around me and my vision grow dark. I hear voices but can’t see anything.

“Are you alright? Master Kenobi!”

“We’re gonna need medical up here now.”

Hands grab my shoulders and lower me to the floor.

“Hey, can you here me? Stay with us, alright?”

“I think he’s passing out. Sir, can you hear me…”


	5. Welcome to Stewjon

Little shards of ice spray my face and grate the skin. There’s a dull pain on the tips of my ears and I remember I’d forgotten to pack my balaclava. I feel my feet going numb and my legs aching in this crouched position. The requisite seconds pass and I gesture to the others behind me to rise and begin moving. I select the nearest benchmark – a particularly gnarled tree – and slowly inch my way toward it, careful to not step on the dried-out foliage or sticks, blaster held low, at the ready. I reach the tree and hold up my fist to signal the halt, then gesture for us to lower back down into a crouch again.

My comm device crackles to life and a little whispered voice comes out. “Master, why are we doing this?”

It’s probably times like these that warrant speaking through the Force to be among the first lessons for a new initiate, but I’ll have to kick myself later. “We’re just being cautious,” I whisper back into the comm device. “We’re not yet inside our compound, so we can’t risk being spotted by possible combatants.” I pause and pear around me. “Just keep following us; once we reach the rendezvous point with Master Tachi, we’ll know we’re safe.” I pray to God he actually heard me.

There’s a brief pause, then the two static bursts of his transmitter to signal an affirmative response. I smile and pull out my map and compass once more, double checking our heading. Two clicks left to the Y in the road. There’s a chill in the air, but also a certain serene stillness. A few delicate flakes of snow fall onto my map, and I look up into the pure white sky. I close my eyes and feel the flakes patter on my face, letting out a sigh. My only memories of Stewjon were a brief flash, if that: an image of running through endless fields from horizon to horizon, laughing and chasing another boy through the tall green grass. I never even knew this mountainous area existed. Nor that there could be any other weather than sunshine.

I tuck my map and compass back into my rucksack and adjust the thick bandaging around my waist. I can feel the ointment-soaked gauze beginning to freeze and harden to my skin in the cold air. If this continues, I’ll have to take my chances and take this off. Signaling the others, we begin to creep our way forward again in the dense silence of the falling snow. As we descend the hill, I hear a familiar whine of a speeder engine approaching and feel a presence in the Force. I turn and hurriedly motion for the others to drop, and I do the same, letting out a small wince of pain as I flop hard onto my stomach. The speeder rounds the corner and nears our position at the side of the road and my heart begins to pound. Suddenly it stops, and I hear two heavy footfalls as the rider dismounts. I burry my face deeper in the brush, hoping an ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see’ mentality might actually work.

“Master Kenobi?” An accented voice calls.

I pause for a moment, then rise to a crouching position. “Identify yourself, please.”

The man looks toward me and smiles in relief. “Master Tachi sent me to meet you. She’s finishing another mission. I’m supposed to take you to the compound.”

“The more you have of me, the less you see. Who am I?”

“Darkness,” he smiles. “Also, the word of the day is Indigo. You can trust me, Jedi.”

I smile back and gesture for the others to rise from their hiding places. I walk over to the man and shake his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Lanza Sheguri. I’m a Republic supporter, a defector from the rebel party. My family was persecuted as sympathizers and it wasn’t safe for us any longer, so we’ve been taken in by your Republic forces. We’ve been travelling with your nomadic compounds for the last year and half. I’m not sure where we’ll go if you ever leave. Probably off this God-forsaken planet.”

“Well it’s an honor to meet you Sheguri,” I turn to the others and wave them over. “This is our Republic attaché Captain Panaka, as well as his security detail from Coruscant.” The three security forces personnel nod cautiously. “This is Jedi Knight Quinlan Vos, as well as my apprentice, Anakin Skywalker.” Quinlan bows, and Anakin follows his lead.

“Welcome to you all. It’s safe to travel in the open today. There’s a town hall in Wollongpore, so we shouldn’t see many people out and about.” We clamor into the trailer towed behind his speeder, and begin to tear through the trees, feeling the sting of the snow and cold air whip our faces.

.  
……………………………………..2 Days Earlier…………………………………

.  
I hear moaning. It’s my own voice. I can’t see anything. I hear a beeping sound, and some voices. The darkness begins to lift. I see my own hand, repeatedly gripping and releasing the side-rail on my bed. I toss my head around to take the world in. Machines, a huge light over my head, a large glass door covered in curtains. Two nurses standing nearby, one approaches me and injects a syringe in a tube coming out of my arm. “Good morning, Obi-Wan. We were a bit worried when you’d wake.”

“Am I in the med ward?” I croak. “What happened?”

“You tell me.” She smiles. “It sounds like you saved the Chancellor’s life last night.”

Images flash in my mind. Exploding glass. A scream. The ship. His eyes, wide and terrified. He jumped. Why did he jump?

“Did anyone find his body? Is he alive?”

The two nurses look at each other, then turn back to me. “If you mean the terrorist, no. He’s assumed to be dead. No body was recovered.”

Terrorist? Are we already at that point?

“Is the Chancellor alright? His secretary?”

“Yes, everyone is fine, thanks to you. You’ll be fine as well. It looks as though you simply fainted from the strain. Everyone’s pretty impressed with your ability to stop an incoming cargo ship, I must say. But it sure did a number on you.”

“Would I be alright to discharge then?” I’m already sitting up, as if answering my own question.

One nurse smiles and shakes her head in amused defeat, while the other helps me to remove my I.V. “I suppose if you wish, I can’t stop you,” she says.

I suck down a glass of water on my side table, and with the nurse’s support, slide off the bed and onto my feet. I have to grip her hand for a moment as the room briefly swirls around me. I squeeze her hand and thank her, and head for the door. I’ve now apparently left Anakin totally alone on his second night here. I hope he’s alright. I promised I’d be back, and I wasn’t there. I really hope he understands.

As soon as my legs allow, I speed up to a trot then a steady jog through the temple to reach the living quarters. When I reach our room, I’m surprised to see Anakin’s door open and the room empty. I panic and feel for his presence in the Force. The Fountain Room.

I feel myself growing sweaty and faint, but I jog anyway, anxiety mounting in my chest. It’s early, why is he not asleep? I imagine him sitting there, sleepless, possibly crying as he contemplates all the people who’ve abandoned him or who he perceives himself to have abandoned. His mother. Qui-Gon. Me. I reach the dark, empty hall, with no sound save for the steady flow of water echoing throughout the marble expanse. Suddenly I see a small figure, sitting cross legged on the edge of the large center fountain, facing the water. I slow to a quiet walk and put my hand on his shoulder.

Anakin flinches, and whips his head around to look at me with wide eyes. A wave of relief seems to spread across his face, and his shoulders sink. “Master!” He hops to his feet and throws his arms around me. I stand there stunned for a moment, then tentatively place my hands on his shoulders, saying nothing as I soak in this moment. Thank God.

“I was so worried about you,” his little voice sounds shaky. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

I lower myself to my knee, until my face is level with his. “Of course. I’m not hurt, I guess I just passed out. But I’m fine. How are you? I’m so sorry to have left you like that. And why in the worlds are you not asleep? It’s three in the morning!”

He beams proudly. “Well I had trouble sleeping so I thought I’d try meditation. I remember you said that’s what we were going to work on, so I thought I’d keep with the plan!”

I can’t help but laugh. “And how’s it going for you so far?”

“Well…” he draws out the word in a child-like way. “I’m not really sure what I’m doing.”

I laugh out loud. “Well I must say, I am proud of you for trying it on your own. I think that was an amazing idea. Hey, I got news for us yesterday.”

He looks excited. “What is it?”

“It looks as though we’re going on our first mission.”

“What? Oh my God, really?”

I smile and nod. “Yes, I’m afraid so. To the planet Stewjon. There’s some political unrest there, so we’ve been asked to help out. I’ll take you to mission planning with me tomorrow and we can go over the background. I have quite a bit of history to catch you up on.”

“Are you sure I’m ready?”

“Well, this wouldn’t have necessarily been my idea,” I laugh nervously, “but the council approved your coming along, so I suppose they at least think you’re ready. Don’t worry, you’ll just accompany me, and we’ll do our best to continue your training during the off-time.”

“Okay.” He nods.

“Hey, what do you say we keep working on your mediation together, until you feel tired enough to sleep. Sound good?”

“Great!”

I sit on the edge of the fountain and cross my legs. He watches closely and imitates my every move. “For now, let’s focus on just one thing. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for four, breathe out for six. Any time your mind wanders to anything else at all, just notice that, without any judgement. Then guide your thoughts back to the breathing. Anytime you lose your thoughts, gently guide yourself back to that.”

I close my eyes and begin to breathe, listening for his as well. I can feel his heart rate begin to slow. I can hear him chastise himself every time he loses focus, and I can’t help but smile.

“Remember, no judgement.” I speak in a low, gentle voice. “It’s neither good nor bad that your mind wanders. Just catch it, and guide it back. Four, four, six. Four, four, six…”  
.

.  
………………………………………………………………………………………..

.

.

Sheguri’s speeder slows to a halt at the compound and we pile out of the trailer. There’s a buzz of movement. People flooding between makeshift tents, gathering around tables inside, pouring themselves over maps and charts. We gather our blasters and rucksacks and follow Sheguri to the large headquarters tent. I catch a shock of blonde and my stomach leaps. Siri and Barriss stand behind the table, with Stewjoni and Republic security forces gathered in chairs together, listening. We slide in and choose our seats quietly.

“And lastly, I regret to mention that our Intel have confirmed our worst suspicions.” Siri speaks in a grave tone. “The Force Dampener injections are announced to be online and to go into circulation within the week. Apparently, they already have buyers throughout the galaxy.”

The room erupts in shocked gasps and whispering. “But is it safe? I thought they were still doing testing?” One man asks.

“You’re correct, it’s not fully tested. But the town hall met today, and the people of Stewjon agreed to go forward with the launch. We received Intel from Sheguri that there is indeed a medical experimentation facility in Wollongpore where they’re continuing to study this drug. Sheguri, could you fill us in on what you learned yesterday?”

“Yes ma’am,” Sheguri stands up beside me and pulls out his weathered notebook. “My partner and I were posted outside the facility for a few hours yesterday and several times we saw local police forces dragging people in in chains. They did not seem willing or happy. We have reason to believe they’re conducting their medical experiments by force, possibly on defectors.” Appalled murmurs flood the room.

“We need to investigate this. If this is true, we have grounds to make arrests. At this point, the production and sale of Force Dampeners is not illegal, but if they’re doing this through forced medical experimentation, then we have what we need to act.” Siri continues. “I know it’s going to be hard, but please keep our manner peaceful. We are still unwanted guests on this planet. But suspected terrorism is now a factor.” Siri suddenly gestures toward me. “There was a suspected attempt on Chancellor Palpatine’s life several days ago. We have no way to confirm, but we believe a rebel Stewjoni hijacked a cargo ship and tried to crash it into the Chancellor’s office. Unfortunately, the suspect committed suicide before he could be I.D.ed.”

Barriss chimes in, “There are rumors, though, that Stewjoni rebel forces have claimed credit for the assassination attempt.”

Siri holds up both her hands to silent the angry whispering again. “Nothing is totally confirmed yet, so please do not engage any local except in self-defense. We are still considered in a peace-keeping and Intel-gathering posture. We’ll let you know if anything changes. Dismissed.”

Everyone stands and begins murmuring to one another as they move to the doorway. Siri and Barriss maneuver their way through the throng toward us, and I stand, offering a bow. Barriss smiles down at Anakin sweetly. “Welcome to your first official mission, young one. This should be very exciting for you.”

Anakin bows and smiles at her, but I feel the worry flutter within him.

“And you!” Barris turns toward me and plants her hands on her hips, taking in the sight of me. “I cannot believe you stopped an incoming cargo ship! And maneuvered it onto a landing port! That’s incredible! You are just full of surprises lately, Obi.”

I feel my face flush and adjust my blaster strap awkwardly. Quinlan jumps in and saves me. “So this Force Dampener injection. Does it work on fully formed Jedi, or just the babies?”

Siri looks serious again. “That we’re not sure. Obviously, it hasn’t been tested on Jedi yet. Only those identified as ‘Force sensitive.’ As far as they’re saying, it’s only marketed for infants.”

“But if it gets in the wrong hands…and used against us…” Quinlan doesn’t have to finish his thought.

“I know.” Siri says. Our best bet is to investigate the claims of medical experiments. That way we can have probable cause to intervene and hopefully shut it down. In the meantime,” she turns toward me. Those huge, blue eyes bore into mine. “Obi-Wan can begin to build a rapport. I’m hoping you and your Padawan can start meeting local leadership and get in their good graces. Apparently, you’re our Ace in the Hole.” She winks sarcastically.

“Sheguri, why don’t you show everyone to the sleeping tent so they can drop off their bags.” Barriss says.

He nods and gestures a hand to the door. As the others follow him out, I linger. Barriss returns to the head table, and Siri smiles at me, adjusting her hair over her shoulders. I can’t help but feel that familiar surge of delight deep in my gut, that’s always met with the crushing disappointment. I can’t help but study the perfect line of her jaw, following my usual routine of desperately seeking out signs of any flaw to fixate on. Perhaps her top lip is too close to her nose. I stare intently at that spot as she speaks. “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re doing better. And I never got to tell you, but, I’m very sorry for Qui-Gon’s death. That must have been very hard for you.”

“His passing took a toll on us all. The Galaxy took a great loss that day.”

“Yes, the galaxy.” I can’t seem to make out the meaning in her tone.

She does that thing where she just stares at me without speaking for several seconds, and I’m too petrified to interrupt her. Like she’s a beautiful dear I’ve stumbled upon in the woods, and I don’t want to scare it away.

“Welcome back to Stewjon, Obi-Wan. I’m really glad you’re here.”


	6. A Storm is Coming

When the vibrating alarm of my comm device begins to buzz into my hand, I immediately switch it off. I’m already awake, ready for it. I slide out of my cot and quietly slip my legs into my boots. By the light of the moon streaming into the open flap of our tent, I maneuver around the other cots and snoring forms until I find Anakin. I kneel down beside his cot and gently shake his shoulder. He looks none too pleased, and stares at me with a hilarious twinge of outrage. 

“Anakin, I have to go into the city with Sir Tachi today, so unfortunately if we want to get any training in, we have to do it now.” I whisper. 

“OK,” he groans, and begins to get his boots on. 

We walk silently through the compound. I see some others are already awake, having meetings in lantern-lit tents, or readying supplies in the armory. They look up and nod at us, and continue their work. 

We escape the artificial glow of the compound and are guided by the white glow of the moon sparkling in the fresh fallen snow, the only sound being the crunch of our boots. I head toward the sounds of rushing water and find a waterfall, frozen in time, with a crystal-clear stream gushing under a layer of ice. I take a seat on a rock, and Anakin does the same, pulling his cloak in tighter around him. His eyes look bloodshot. 

“Did you know that you can create a sort of cocoon of insulation around yourself with the Force?” I ask him.

He only just seems to notice I don’t have on my cloak and his eyes widen. “Really?”

“There’s a lot we can do. Having an open line of communication with the Force is like gaining another sense. Trying to explain it to you at this point would be like trying to describe sight to someone who was born blind. They have a conceptual understanding, but can never truly know what it’s like. It’s almost…indescribable. But I know you’ve tapped into this before. When can you think you might have?”

Anakin looks down at the creek and studies the water with a frown. “I think when I’ve Pod Raced. Or fly in general. I can see what’s going to happen a few seconds before it actually does. It’s like something clicks. I just feel so…fluid. I don’t know, does that make sense?”

I nod vigorously. “It does! You’re exactly right. The Force has been trying to communicate with you your entire life. All I need to do is teach you how to open your ears a little more.”

“I know I’m ready! I think I’ve been feeling something for a long time.”

“Good,” I say. “I think what will help us first is to learn how to feel each other’s presence in the Force. How to communicate with each other with our thoughts.”

“Wow.” He looks at me wide-eyed again. 

“Remember the meditation we’ve been practicing? It helps to clear all mind chatter away to be able to listen better. I’m going be silent and see if you can feel me reach out to you. You’ll understand when I do.”

He looks a little worried, but closes his eyes and draws his legs up onto the rock, resting his hands on his knees. No sound but the muffled rush of water beneath ice and the gentle caresses of icy wind. I can feel Anakin shivering, but his mind is silent in spite of his physical discomfort. Very impressive. I take a tug at his Life Force and send him a reassuring, but wordless touch. I feel his shivering lessen, and see a smile grow on his face through my closed eyes. 

Suddenly his eyes snap open. “Oh my God, was that it?”

I open my eyes as well and laugh. “Yes, that was me. I’m impressed. Your pathways are very open and receptive.”

“That’s incredible! Can I try it on you?”

“Sure. Don’t try to think through words. I just want you to simply reach out to me. Send your Life Force my way. It’s not a physical movement, so you don’t need to picture a literal reaching in any way. The feeling you got when I connected with you, just try to replicate that and I’ll be open to it. Give it a go.”

He closes his eyes again and I do the same. I wait. My heart begins to ache with longing. I feel exposed, vulnerable. I begin to shiver and my throat feels tight. I see a face. A woman, crying, huddled in a dark corner whispering, “it’s OK. It’s OK.” I feel the need to reach out to her, to taker her in my arms. To make her safe and to feel safe. And I see a man. He kneels down and touches my shoulder and I feel hot tears sting my eyes. I snap them open and scan the cold, unmoving fields of snow, breathing heavily in shock. 

I meet Anakin’s concerned gaze. “Did I do it wrong?” He asks.

I don’t even know how to answer him. What the hell was that? “No.” I stammer. “I’m just…it’s just…I wasn’t expecting such a strong connection, that’s all.”

Anakin smiles a little with pride. I have to ask, “Anakin. Who were these people? In your vision? I saw a woman, and a man. I felt…their presence with you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I know you said to clear the mind chatter. I just let my mind be free, go where it wanted. I guess I was thinking of my mom. And…Master Jinn.”

“Oh. I see.” I don’t know what to say. I just let the wind kick up a swirl of white powder between us and stare into it. 

“Did you two do this?” He asks.

“Do what?”

“Talk and connect through the Force?”

“We did.” I speak slowly, unable to meet his gaze. “It took a while. But eventually it helped us form a special bond. We always knew what the other was thinking and feeling. It’s like we were one person.”

“You must miss him. Like I miss my mom. Was he like a dad to you?”

I wonder when he’ll learn to talk like the rest of us. Never saying what we mean. Never being so direct, so blunt, so innocently honest. But knowing everything anyway. It’ll probably break my heart when that day comes. 

“I guess he was.” I venture carefully. “I never had a father, at least not one I remember. It’s OK to form a bond between a Master and Apprentice. We just can’t lose ourselves to it.” Like I did. “Your attachment to your mother was a beautiful thing. No doubt it kept you both alive. But you don’t need to have the other physically there. All things are connected through the Force. Do you understand?”

“I do.” He smiles. This seems to comfort him.  
.  
.  
.

Siri drops a pile of clothing onto my cot. “What’s this for?” I ask.

“We can’t go in dressed like Jedi. Nothing that can at all be connected to the Republic. I assume these will fit. If not, then maybe you’ll look like a child in their father’s clothing and they’ll take more pity on you.” She smirks. 

“More pity?” I can’t help but laugh.

She takes her own bundle behind a curtain and I do the same. My tall boots are replaced with short, chunky ones. I slip the pilled, deep-maroon tunic over my head, and she was right- I’m swimming in it.  
“Siri!” I call over the curtain.

“What?”

“Can I at least wear my utility belt?”

“No!” She shouts in mock outrage that I’d even ask. 

I laugh, and almost in my own form of childish protest, simply remove the holster and other items from the belt until it’s naked and unrecognizable. I tuck my lightsaber into the cavernous cargo pocket of my pants. She emerges from her curtain almost at the same time as me. Her slender form is completely obscured by a thick canvas jacket, not unlike what would be worn on a work site. Her hair is pulled up in a pony tail and covered by a woolen cap. 

When she finishes adjusting herself, she stares at me for a long time. I can’t help but squirm in her gaze. “I’m glad to be on a mission with you again.” She finally says. “What’s it been, ten years or so?”

My body remembers holding her close to me for warmth in a desolate cave in Cirrus. I shudder at the thought. “Yes, I believe so.”

We don our helmets, lower the visors, and mount our snowmachines, taking off into a mounting flurry. I follow Siri through a maze of trees, and the horizon suddenly appears over the precipice of the mountain side. I keep looking over to her, waiting for her to change course, but she doesn’t. She suddenly disappears over the edge and I can’t help but swerve to a halt and look over the cliff face, expecting to see her and the vehicle tumbling down the mountain together. Instead her form is disappearing down a couloir, carving a snaking pattern the whole way down. I let out a sharp sigh and flick my visor back down. The front of my snowmachine teeters over the edge and my stomach lurches as I drop down the gully. I follow her pattern in the snow, carving her S-like shapes, and feel a rush of adrenaline. I hear her “wahoo!” echo in the enormous mountain enclosed valley and I let out a whoop of delight in response. She waits for me at the bottom, grinning and panting. 

“God, I can get used to this place!” I laugh. 

“I can’t say I’ve hated my time here so far! Come on, we’re almost there. Sorry, but it’s pretty flat from here on out, dare-devil.”

She flicks her visor back down and slides her turn down valley, spraying snow back up at me. The sparkling lights of Wollongpore approach and begin to dim as the sun struggles to rise through the thick, white clouds. Her voice reaches out to me through the Force, over the thunder of our engines, “Watch out for depressions in the snow, it could be a snow bridge over a crevasse. We’re technically on top of a glacier right now.” Together we snake our way through the signs of crevasses, which are anything from small, insidious sumps to gaping maws or bottomless moulins. I can’t help but stare in awe at the massive sinkholes, with the ice so bright and pure blue along their walls. 

No matter how hard I rev my engine and lean into the snowy wind, I can’t seem to catch up to her. I can feel her subdued delight at being constantly in the lead. I remember an image of us running on the Sky Track as kids. Of struggling to stay just on her tail as she never gave in. Even if she collapsed to the floor at the end, she’d never let me beat her. I could never tell if it was just her competitive nature, or some personal message to me specifically. In any case it usually had us laughing. I almost felt sorry for her in the past; for her compulsive need to prove herself, to be the best athletically no matter what pains it caused her or how many late-night hours in the training center it cost. 

When we reach the outskirts of the city, I feel myself growing anxious. So far, the passersby barely pay attention to us, many of them on snowmachines themselves. Siri slows her pace and leads me to a crowded courtyard fenced in by massive buildings, no doubt a center for local government. Enormous banners hanging from the columns thrash in the icy wind. We park our vehicles and stash our helmets, and I have to calm my breathing. 

“Don’t be nervous,” Siri says. “You’re one of them, remember?”

As we filter in, the sounds of jeering and yelling grow louder. To my shock, Siri reaches back and grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd. I can feel the warmth through her glove. We push to the front until we’re standing right below several people on a makeshift stage. Their breaths hang in white clouds in front of their faces, and they seem to be constantly shifting to stay warm. 

“In spite of our cure, the Republic is relentless.” A young woman yells. “We’ve received reports from one of our neighboring star systems that they’re now testing blood for midi-chlorians at random in the child-care centers!”

The crowd erupts in rage, some shaking their fists in the air. An older man moves to the front of the stage and silences the crowd with his outstretched hands. “We have a solution.” He speaks calmly, face serious. His deep voice carries without needing to yell. “It’s a drastic measure, but our last chance if we want to save our people from government abduction. Our new program is strictly voluntary, and at this time only approved for Force-sensitive adults. We are currently testing the implant of a device that is rigged to self-destruct when it detects the user leaving their planet’s atmosphere.”

Gasps of shock are drowned out by cheering and applause. I feel my skin crawl. “Yes, the user will be killed. But it’s a last-ditch effort of sabotage. A final exercise of free will that flies in the face of the Republic. To tell them we will not so easily allow ourselves and our families to be taken and brainwashed into their slave army any longer!” He shoves his fist high into the air and the crowd responds with deafening cheers. 

Siri and I exchange looks. They consider the Jedi to be a “slave army?” 

“When will this device be available?” A man next to me shouts.

The young woman speaks again, “very soon, we hope. The internal guidance system needs more testing before we can go into mass production.”

I can’t keep silent any longer. “The Jedi don’t take adults. Wouldn’t this device be useless and unnecessarily dangerous?” I catch Siri’s stunned look out of the corner of my eye but I don’t dare meet her gaze. 

The crowd is hushed and I get a collective glare from everyone on stage. The older man slowly walks to the front. “What is your name, young man? I haven’t seen you in our rallies before.”

My mouth goes dry. I instantly regret speaking. I look over at Siri and she just cocks one shoulder in uncertainty. I suppose now is as good a time as any to go with the plan. “My name is Obi-Wan. I’m a visitor, but originally a native of this planet.”

The man just stares at me, his mouth slowly falling agape. I wait and shift uncomfortably, and a younger man finally steps forward and cuts the tension. “We welcome guests. We want our message spread to the galaxy. What planet do you live on now?”

I let out a sharp breath. Fuck, what have I done? “Coruscant.” I yell with a little too much annoyance. Sure enough, I hear whistles and angry murmurs all around me. The young man and woman on stage smirk at each other and shake their heads. 

“Do you work for the Republic?” I hear a female voice ask from the crowd. A woman of perhaps middle age begins to walk toward me, an entourage of sorts trailing behind her. The crowd parts to clear a path, and I would feel nervous but her face is the only one soft and calm. Her gray-blue eyes crinkle at the edges when she smiles. Her blond hair is pulled back into a rather severe bun, but her loose white robes, embroidered with colorful flowers, give her a relaxed aura. Suddenly I recognize her. I’ve seen her face at the once yearly galactic senate meetings, where representatives of the farther reaches and smaller populations are able to go. Before I collect myself enough to offer a bow, she reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing my arm in greeting. 

“No ma’am,” I finally say. “My colleague and I are contractors. We have a prospective contract on Stewjon, so we’re just visiting.”

“Well I can speak for everyone here by saying that’s a relief to hear.” The crowd suddenly laughs, almost like letting out a bated breath. “You seem to have a lot of questions for visiting contractors.”

“Well news of Stewjon has reached even us in our lofty capitol.” Siri steps forward, emboldened and sarcastic as always. “We heard reports of these medical tests being done non-consensually. And that the recent assassination attempt against our Chancellor was an act of terrorism by your rebel group.”

“Whoa, hold on everyone!” The older man on stage has to step forward as figures close in around us. The collective outrage vibrates the air. 

The senator seems oblivious, her sweet smile frozen and almost disturbingly inappropriate. “You can’t believe everything you hear in the news.” She finally speaks, but only loud enough for Siri and I to hear. “Yes, the attacker was confirmed as being from Stewjon. But he acted alone. This activist group doesn’t engage in acts of violence, I can promise you that. Whatever allegations you may have heard in the capital are baseless slander, nothing more.”

“Please, Senator, what’s this all for? What is the stance of this…activist group?”

“Rowan, would you like to explain?” She turns to the older man. He steps forward and jumps down from the platform. His eyes haven’t stopped boring into me since we spoke up. 

“Too many families have been shattered by the Republic. They abduct our children and force them into the Jedi army. They give the people of this galaxy no say, they just take. And contrary to your claim, Force-sensitive adults are persecuted by the Jedi. They unfairly monitor them and sometimes take them too if they dare use their powers. They’re usually never seen or heard from again. Just for using their gifts. They’re just bitter that they escaped being found as infants.”

“You mean if they use their powers for violence? I think in that case it’s called an arrest, not abduction.” I venture.

“These people can’t be reasoned with, Papa. They’re brainwashed capital drones.” The younger man says with a sneer. “When you act as a passive bystander, you’re implicate in the Baby Snatching!”

I can’t help but gasp. I think back to my cloak, crumpled in a heap on my cot back at the compound. Inside the pocket, the old pamphlet, crumpled and worn: “Stop the Baby Snatchers.” Qui-Gon somehow knew about this. Yet he never said a thing to me. Stewjon never come onto our radar until the last few months. Why would he keep this a secret? 

“I don’t know who told you two about this rally, but I’d like to formally revoke your invitation.” Rowan hisses. A gust of wind showers us with icy flakes and I can’t help but shiver. I look over to the senator, but she just smiles back at me, saying nothing. I feel Siri grip my arm and start to guide me back. “Come on,” she whispers. 

As we dive deeper into the jeering crowd, I hear the Senator’s voice call at my back jovially, “We’ll be watching you.” I try to whip around and look at her, but a mass of bodies obstructs my view, closing in on us and forcing us further away. They begin to push and shove until we’re spat out the back, standing alone in the freezing air devoid of their body heat. 

Siri and I shuffle through the wind out of the courtyard toward our snowmachines, the echo of the female protester’s voice buffeting off the walls once more. As I grab my helmet, I hear a man call behind me, “Hey!”

Rowan stands shivering several yards away. “I don’t know where you’re going, but if I were you, I’d hole up somewhere. A storm is approaching.” With that, he turns and begins jogging back to the rally before I can say anything. 

“Well that was unexpected.” Siri says. 

“It was,” I stare after his retreating form. “Did you notice that man was staring at me?”

“I did. It worries me. Maybe he’s seen your face before in the news or something. We need to be more covert about this.”

I nod, zipping up my jacket and winding my scarf tight around my collar. “Do you think he’s right? Should we find lodging somewhere?”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Didn’t you hear that woman? ‘We’ll be watching you’? No, we need to get back to the compound. Intel is going to want a report on this, anyway. We got some good stuff.”

As we pass through the suburbs of the city, I see people hurrying indoors and windows being shuttered. Pretty soon our engines are the only sounds over the wind. The once towering mountains at the far end of the valley we came from are disappearing behind the sinking deck of clouds. Our little competition seems to go out the window- Siri and I ride close, side by side, speeding across the glacier as fast as we can. In the increasing darkness, we have to swerve last minute to dodge the crevasses. Sky and ground are one hazy mass of white, and pretty soon I begin to feel as though the world is continuously flipping upside down. Despite the bitter rush of wind, I feel myself beginning to sweat from the mounting nausea. We can’t get there soon enough. 

We seem to ride for hours, both desperately scanning the horizon for signs of our tracks back up the couloir we descended from. But that mountain is completely swallowed in the massive wall of pelting snow. There are no more landmarks, no sign of our tracks at all. 

“Siri!” I yell over the howl of wind. “We can’t stay out here like this! We need to make shelter!”

If she responded, I couldn’t hear it. She dismounts and attempts a run through the waist-deep powder toward a small hill nearby. I struggle to follow, but my snowmachine sinks too deeply, suffocating the engine with snow until it stalls and the headlights flicker and go out. I step off and practically have to swim after her. I completely lose sight of Siri, and have to grab hold of her Life-Force like a tether tied between us. When I catch up, she’s pawing at the snow, digging a hole into the side of the hill. I drop to my knees and join her until we burrow a small cave big enough for us both to crawl into. We keep digging downward, until we’ve constructed a snow shelter worthy of an adequately passing mark in Arctic Skills school. 

We peel off our gloves, hold our hands to our mouths, and pant warm breath onto our stiff fingers. Siri suddenly begins to laugh. “Well this is fun, eh?”

I just stare at her and shake my head. “You’re insane.”

“I can’t believe we left our snowmachines.” She buries her face into her hands. Her shoulders heave, but I can’t tell if it’s from crying or laughing or some sickening combination of both. “They’ll be totally buried by the time this storm ends. We won’t be able to find them!” 

This time I can’t help but laugh. In the kind of way you would at a funeral ceremony, where everyone turns and glares at you, but you can’t seem to stop. 

“Hey, does this remind you of Cirrus?” Siri looks up from her hands with a tired smile. 

“Well, yes, now that you mention it.” I very much doubt she’ll let me hug her this time. 

Siri strips off her liner gloves until her hands are bare, then begins to rifle around a small pouch hanging from her belt. She pulls out a string of tinder and her flint, sparking a small fire in the corner of our little cave. We sit mesmerized for a long time, holding our aching hands over the blessed flame. My eyelids sag and I feel an ache in my neck and shoulders in my hunched position. 

“Can I ask you something?” Siri says.

“Of course.”

“Why did you come along today? Quinlan could have easily been my partner. I would have figured you’d need to be with your Padawan.”

I just stare into the fire and pray she takes my reddening face to be from the cold. “I thought it would be nice to go scouting with you again. After all these years.”

“But we have the entire mission. We could literally be partners any time. What’s the rush?”

“Are you critiquing me?”

She gives a half-hearted laugh. “Well maybe. It just seems weird for a new Master to kind of ditch his Padawan the first day on a new planet, that’s all. But what would I know?”

The wind moans and wails in the most unsettling way across the small opening of the cave up above us. “I still feel uncomfortable around him.” I blurt out. I feel myself sway a little, and feel oddly detached from the exhaustion and lingering nausea, like my confession won’t matter because this is actually just a dream. Nonetheless, I feel my cheeks burn with regret. 

“Oh,” is all she says. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” I immediately retract. 

“No! It’s fine, trust me. I appreciate your honestly, it’s a little out of character for you. I like it.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me, he’s a wonderful kid. It’s just whenever I look at him…”

“You think of Qui-Gon.”

I stare wide-eyed at her. How did she know?

“It makes sense.” She says, ripping a scrap of paper from her notepad and tossing it into our little fire. “You really need to get over that, though. You can’t keep thinking of him when you’re around your Padawan. It’s not fair to the kid.”

“Well can I ask you something?”

“Alright. Shoot.”

“Why, over all these years, have you almost never responded to my messages.” What in God’s name has gotten in to me? Why did I just say that?

She pauses and then narrows her eyes. “What exactly do you mean?”

The words continue to tumble out of me like I’m possessed. I still feel lightheaded and dreamlike. “Over the years, I would try to reach you via data-messages or send a wellness check, and you would very rarely even respond. Are you not interested in maintaining any level of our friendship?”

“Are you lashing out, or something? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” She jams her hands into the arms pits of her jacket and hugs herself tightly, teeth beginning to chatter. 

I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I simply care about this friendship. Any efforts to maintain it seemed a little one-sided to me, that’s all. I don’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m sorry, but what friendship?”

I feel a knot in my throat. I’m suddenly utterly mortified. “I just thought…”

“How exactly did you expect us to go back to being friends after…after Cirrus?”

Because of the cave? There was nothing intimate about that, we were just trying to stay warm, stay alive. “I don’t understand, what exactly was so abhorrent about that mission?”

“How can we just pretend like everything is fine and dandy after our talk with Master Yoda and Master Jinn back then? About confessing feelings, but then being reminded how incredibly selfish and naive that was? Jesus, I was humiliated! We were so foolish!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what?” she scoffs. 

“You weren’t embarrassed. You were sad.”

She stares at me and lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s hard to go back from that.”

“Well I’d like to try.”

“Fine. Agreed.” She says, holding out her hand to me. Tentatively, I take it, and she gives my hand a hearty shake. 

“I feel so tired but I’m afraid if I sleep I’ll die.” My words slur together so fast I sound drunk. We both explode in hysterical laughter, but have to sputter and cough from our ravaged throats. My ribs feel as though they’ll break from the heaving. 

“Tell you what, we take shifts.” She says. 

“Oh God, that sounds like a terrible idea.” I keep laughing. 

“Why?” She shouts with mock offense. 

“Because I don’t trust you. No way you’ll stay awake.”

She reaches out and punches my shoulder, but I feel nothing through my thick jacket and numb skin. “Fine then, we’ll just keep talking to keep each other awake.”

“I don’t know if I would even have enough to say.”

“Want to hear a joke?”

“Oh, good Lord,” I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

“Well this one is apropos. How does a Tauntaun build its house?”

She already begins giggling uncontrollably and I have to shout “How?” for her to even hear. 

“Igloos it together…” she buries her face down into her lap and squeals with laughter. 

“That’s as bad as I could have possibly imagined.”

“Ok, Ok, …” Siri gasps for breath and fights for her composure. “Ok, I have another one. Ready?” She immediately erupts into laughter again and I can’t help but do the same. 

“If you can catch your breath, sure.”

“Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

“My God, why?”

“He was outstanding in his field! Wait, hold on, two fish are in a tank and one says to the other, do you know how to drive this thing?”

I shove a gloved hand over her mouth and feel her muffled laughter. “You need to stop now.” 

She rolls onto her side and remains in a fit of dazed laughter for several moments. I also lean back onto the wall of our cave and rest my eyelids closed. 

“You can’t sleep,” I hear her slurred voice through the swirling darkness behind my eyelids. I try to respond, but only a mumble escapes. I feel the heat from our little fire wane, and my shivering has evolved to violent, uncontrollable convulsions. 

“Siri,…” I open my eyes, but she’s already passed out, a faint smile on her pale face. I see a hint of blue on her lips. The last of the flame is snuffed out by a drop of condensation from the ceiling, and Siri is completely swallowed in darkness.


	7. Ties that Bind

"Obi-Wan, it's time to wake up."

"I'm too tired."

"Laziness is unbecoming for you. Come on, you know not to do this."

"Do what?"

"Fall asleep in a snow cave. With inadequate clothing. Your fire went out."

"Master, it's fine."

"It's not. You're putting Siri in danger. Besides, is it fair to Anakin that both his potential tutors died in the span of a few weeks? What would that do to him? You know no one else is willing to take him on."

"Do I? Because the Chancellor seems to think the only reason I was chosen was because of you. Because it was your last wish. Master Yoda doesn't think it was a good idea, and frankly I agree."

"Since when have we listened to him?"

I open my eyes to see Qui-Gon smiling playfully. He leans up against the opposite wall, impervious to the cold snow at his back. He looks down at me with those soft eyes and I immediately start to choke on an onslaught of sobs so intense it scares me. I want more than anything to jump up and throw my arms around him, but I can't move. My body is completely numb, my fingers have gone white. I just lay here in a crumpled heap staring back at him, sobbing.

"I miss you so much."

"I know you do, young one. I miss you, too. But it's going to be alright." His voice is slow, cool, each syllable given special care.

"How can you say that?"

"You never fully trusted me. Not really. Why not try something different. Stop fighting everything. For once, give in to the will of the Force and just see what happens."

"How can this be the will of the Force?"

"I am the Force." He smirks. "At least, I am now. You are the blind man. I am the one who can see." He gives me a wink and I can't help but smile back.

"Master, I'm so tired. Why can't I move?"

"Well, fool, you forgot to check on your doorway of this ridiculous cave."

"Wh-what? What do you mean?"

"It got snowed in. That was your only airhole. You two have been sucking in each other's carbon monoxide for the past hour. I'd say you have only a few more minutes before you're both dead."

I feel small again. Like a boy who's made a mortifying error.

"Now, why don't you listen to me, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and get off your lazy arse?"

My whole body jolts awake and I take in a sharp gasp. I try to look around, but see nothing. I suck desperately for air and feel the shivering come back in uncontrollable spasms. The wind howls outside.

"Siri?" I croak. "Siri, wake up."

I hear no response and get onto my hands and knees and paw around, but I feel nothing. I left my gloves off this entire time and my hands have gone completely numb. Eventually I feel a dull thud from the lifeless stump at the end of my arm. I force my fingers to grab hold of clothing and shake her body with all the energy I have. Eventually I hear a soft moan.

"Siri, please," I fight through the heaving coughs, "you have to get up. We have to leave."

All I get is another moan and no movement. You have to let air in, you idiot. I stagger to my feet and feel around for the tunnel that led to our doorway. I crawl through, panting and hacking. My head hits what was the entrance, now a caved in wall of dense snow. My fingers are numb anyway- I use them to claw into the snow, eventually transitioning to repeated punching until my chest is wracked with coughing and I have to lay my head down and catch my breath. My head is spinning, and I feel so, so tired. I can feel my eyelids fluttering and I moan out loud, hoping my own noises will rouse me awake. I can't stop now, she'll die. I heave myself onto my hands and knees and begin punching the wall again as hard as I can. Suddenly, I feel my fist pierce through, and the feeling of wind on bare skin.

"Oh my god, yes. Yes!"

I keep pummeling the wall with new vigor, now grunting with each strike. Suddenly I can see bright white and a rush of wind slams into my face. I can't help but drink in the air and close my eyes in near ecstasy. With the new light I'm able to see Siri's pale, prone form and I crawl to it. She's still not awake, and her lips are blue, so I grab hold of her collar and drag her toward the door, inch by agonizing inch, until I'm yelling out loud from the strain. I drag her until her head is hanging out the doorway. Her woolen cap is whisked away in the wind and her blonde hair tumbles out all over the snow.

"Come on, Siri, breath." I tap her cheeks. "It's time to breath."

I lower my ear down to her mouth and barely hear faint, slow breathing. I rear back up and start shoving my hands down onto her chest. Her eyes snap open and she gasps for air, the color rushing back to her face and lips.

I can't help but collapse in the snow next to her, laying on my back and panting up into the swirling white sky. The clouds have form and shape to them now, no longer melded with the horizon and landscape. I look over to the east and see the clouds ablaze in the light of a hidden sun struggling to break through. Thank you, God.

"Obi-Wan. What happened? Did we pass out?"

"Yes," I pant. "We were suffocating. The doorway caved in."

She pauses for a long time. "I can't believe we could be so stupid."

I can't help it, but I start laughing until I'm sputtering and hacking.

"I really don't know what's so funny about that."

"We're alive, Siri. We survived the storm."

"That we did."

Siri takes a few deep breaths, and then with a grunt, she pushes herself up into a sitting position and begins scanning the snow, no doubt for signs of our snowmachines. I should be helping her, but I lay still, watching her long hair dance around her face in the wind. Her eyes suddenly light up. "I see something!"

She has to lean her hands on her knees like an old woman as she stands, but soon she's staggering away from me down the hill. I lift my head to see her brushing the snow off of an exposed handle bar of one of our vehicles. "Obi-Wan, get up and help me, for fuck sake!"

With an exaggerated groan, I roll over and get my feet under me. We both ignite our lightsabers and carefully hold them over the snow until it melts away, painstakingly revealing our dripping snowmachines, until there's only a small amount that we can easily brush away with our gloved hands.

We don't bother to find the second one. Siri hops on, and I jump up behind her, closing my arms around her waist and breathing in the scent of her hair as it whips my face in the rushing wind. The world has shape and shadow now, allowing us to see the faded indentations in the snow that were our tracks. The engine groans so loudly as we slowly crawl back up the couloir that I'm worried it will stall, sending us tumbling back down the slope with our two-ton machine. I close my eyes, grip Siri's waist tighter, and release a silent prayer into the Force. By some sweet miracle, we crest the top of the hill, and are able to easily cut through the thick powder the rest of the way to the encampment.

As we approach, I see a stunned Quinlan pull away from a huddled group and run toward us. "Oh my God, where were you?"

Siri and I both seem to choke on our words. I feel my face flush hot with embarrassment. "We had to take shelter overnight in the storm." I finally say.

"Well I'm afraid a search party went out looking for you in the city. They're in Wollongpore now. And Obi-Wan," he turns to me with a stern look, "I took over looking after your Padawan."

Panic rises in my chest, and I can feel Siri looking over at me. "Thank you, Quinlan. I can take back over from here."

He keeps glaring over at me. "He was really worried, you know."

"I understand that. But everything is alright now."

"Maybe you two should work more on his emotional control." He says under his breath.

"Yes, Quinlan, thank you. I'm good from here."

"Well if you two are done, can we alert the search party to stand down and return to base?" Siri interjects.

Quinlan purses his lips and shakes his head. "We lost contact with them hours ago. There's been no sign of them."

"Has anyone tried looking for them?" Siri nearly yells.

"A search party for the search party?" Quinlan scoffs. "Yeah, sure, Siri. Anyway, we have reason to assume the worst." Quinlan pulls a folded note from his pocket and hands it to us.

"_The recent, blatant invasion of Republic forces is considered an act of war. Your spies are now our POWs, and the rest of your forces are ordered to evacuate this planet within 48 hours or you will be met with deadly force_."

"They can't do this…" I say quietly, stunned.

"Well they did. We may have to leave this planet without the others, and let the Republic return with their military forces to extract them. Or do battle. It's up to them, this is not our fight."

"How is this not our fight?" Siri jams the note back into Quinlan's chest. "We were sent here to stop this! We've been working this for months, and you suggest we just give up and run at the first threat?"

"They've declared war, Siri!" Quinlan yells. "And not with the Jedi, mind you. With the Republic. They're association of us with the Republic is on them."

"But we do represent the Republic." I say as calmly as I can.

Quinlan rolls his eyes, "Oh give me a break, Obi."

"Like it or not, we do. That's ultimately what we fight for. Peace and democracy. Which happens to be the Republic. The closest thing we've ever had to a perfect system. That should be good enough for a humble Jedi Knight."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"We stand down. Don't leave. This isn't war, they have no legal right to declare it, so we don't have to recognize it. Right now, our security forces have been kidnapped by terrorists and we need to save them. Today." I start toward the briefing tent, and hear Quinlan's staggering footfalls crunch in the snow behind me.

"We don't have the authority, Obi-Wan! The council has already ordered our retreat. They're deploying a Republic unit to deal with this, it's not our fucking problem! This is all total bullshit."

"Trust me, Quinlan, I agree with you. Nevertheless, it's still our problem."

.

.

.

I have to take a few deep breaths and calm myself before I enter our tent. I can't believe I feel this intimidated by a kid. I gently pull the canvas flap aside and see Anakin sitting on his cot, looking over reading material I had left for him. He looks up at me and snaps the pamphlet closed. Without a word he gets up and finally begins to unpack his gear despite my asking days ago. He hurriedly folds up each item of clothing and jams it roughly into the foot-locker at the base of his cot.

I tentatively step toward him. "Hi Anakin. I'm sorry I was gone for so long. Siri and I got caught in the storm."

I wait for a response but get none. I stand awkwardly watching him unpack, paralyzed with indecision as to what to say. My panic begins to dissipate, and anger settles in. "Anakin, are you listening to me?"

"Why am I here?" He snaps back, still not looking at me.

A laugh escapes, and I can hear the unintentional condescension it may give. "What are you talking about?"

He finally looks up at me. _Glares_ up at me. "Why did you drag me along? You've barely talked to me, we've barely done any training, and then you go on your missions without me and I just have to sit here all alone and no one knows what to do with me so I just sit here in our tent bored out of my mind."

I stand wide eyed for a moment. I don't know whether to be shocked a Padawan could speak to their master this way, or impressed with how astute beyond his years he actually is. "Well…we talked about this, Anakin. There isn't much you're qualified to do at this early stage, so all I can do is basic lessons in a safe environment. And I didn't intend to be gone so long-"

"Right, the weather." He says sarcastically. He gets up off the floor and sits at the table, flipping through booklets that I don't recognize. Possibly given to him by Quinlan.

"How did things go with Master Vos? I hear he was able to step in while I was gone."

"Pretty darn good, actually." The anger in his voice betrays the message.

"You'll have to humor me, was that sarcasm?"

Anakin turns to face me. "No. It really wasn't. I like him. He taught me a lot of stuff, actually. He stayed with me for a long time. I think he cares about me."

"That's good. You know I do too, right?"

"Well no, not really. But that's fine. You're just my teacher."

"Okay, Anakin, this has to stop. You can't be talking to me like this. I don't know what's gotten in to you, but-"

"Gotten into me? So what, I'm the problem now? Are you really going to ignore what you did? What you said?"

"Wait, what I said? What do you mean?"

"That you're avoiding me on purpose! That I remind you of Master Jinn too much so you don't want to be around me!"

I gasp. "Anakin…did you…did you hear me through the Force? When I was talking with Master Tachi?"

He keeps his indignant glare, but slowly raises his eyebrows in confusion. "Of course," he says. "You taught me how. I was trying to keep track of you while you were gone, make sure you were safe."

I'm in awe. I feel an incredible urge to sink to my knees, to grovel, beg his forgiveness. "Anakin, I'm so, so sorry. I really had no idea you were connected with me when I said that. I didn't mean for you to know. And you're right, I have been avoiding you. I have, I can't deny that. This changes now. I promise, I will do better."

He sneers and looks away, as though he can't bear the sight of me. "Master Vos cares more about me. He's a good teacher. Why can't he be my Master?"

I have to sound stern now. "It doesn't work that way, Padawan. You and I have been assigned together, it's a bond not easily forsaken. You must understand this."

"It already was!"

"What are you talking about?"

"When Qui-Gon died! He was my Master, not you! You should have died that day; he should have been my Master!" Anakin's eyes bulge. He slaps his hand over his mouth and stands pale and frozen.

I freeze, too. We both stand in silence, listening to the wind howl in the distance. I feel a heavy sadness drop into my chest like a lead weight. I try to hold my tongue, but the words tumble out of me and I can't take them back, "I agree. It should have been me. But this is what we're stuck with. It's total shit, but this is our life now and we have to make the best of it."

He lets the hand slowly drop from his mouth and I see his eyes begin to water, his face contorted in remorse. He looks like he wants to say something, probably apologize, and I can't help but turn away before he has a chance. I clear my throat and speak as I walk toward the doorway, defeated. "I have to abandon you again, apparently. Some of our forces were kidnapped and require extraction. You're not authorized to come, it's too dangerous. Please keep reading your assignments."

I hear a small whimper sound behind me as I let the tent flap fall closed. This is the worst possible to time to leave him, you idiot. You're just trying to punish him, let him feel bad about this. You are a terrible Master. He should be alive, not you.

I stomp faster through the snow, trying to outrun the savage thoughts in my head. I reach Siri, sitting on her snowmachine outside the supply tent, talking with Quinlan. "Are you two ready?" I accidentally shout as I mount my own snowmachine, firing up the engine before I even get a response.

They look at each other and shrug. We jam our helmets over our heads and peal out of the compound once more, into the softly falling snow. I internally thank them profusely for their haste and feel a wave of reassurance through the Force.

I can't help but rev my engine for all she has, tearing through the snow toward Wollongpore with an unslaked thirst for vengeance weighing heavily in my chest. Together we ride in silence down the valley, bouncing in unison over the uneven glacial debris.

When we arrive, it's as though we were expected. Another rally seems to have been assembled in the city courtyard, and every person eerily turns to face us as we approach- our engines the only sound ricocheting off the enclosed walls. When we stop and shut down our snowmachines, the silence that engulfs us is nearly suffocating. I dismount with a heavy thud, and begin to walk toward the stage scanning for Rowan or any member of his inbred, lawless family. Instead, I'm met with the Senator's blond, smiling form walking right toward me. I can't help but take a step back, my skin crawling.

I quickly gather my senses and offer a begrudging bow. "Ma'am, we've been given notice that members of our team have my unlawfully kidnapped. We're here to extricate them. Please direct us to them, and we will be on our way."

"Kidnapped?" She says in exaggerated shock. "Why I believe you mean arrested, Master Jedi. I don't know how you do things on Coruscant, but espionage is a crime on Stewjon. According to galaxy-wide Republic laws, a crime punishable by death."

I can feel the smug, self-aggrandizing smiles of the crowd dig into me and I can't help but shudder. Siri steps up beside me and I feel a wash of relief. "You're speaking in terms of war, Madame Senator. We are not at war with Stewjon, therefore this is kidnapping. These forces were merely sent to find their missing friends, nothing more. Please, tell us where they are before we must escalate this situation."

The senator's blue eyes crinkle with a smile. "Escalate?" She laughs.

Quinlan suddenly steps up and ignites his lightsaber. The once confident crowd jolts back, and I can't help but share in their concern. I venture a glance over at Quinlan, but he glares ahead at the senator. I see Siri reluctantly pull her sabre from its hilt, but just hovers her thumb over the button.

"You Republic scum!" A man's booming voice sends a shockwave through the courtyard and I feel a shudder of fear down my spine.

The crowd suddenly parts to reveal Rowan thundering toward us, his family struggling to keep up behind him. With caution, I pull out my blaster, leaving my lightsaber at my belt.

"Sir, this is Republic business, this doesn't concern you. Stay back!"

He continues to bowl toward us like a charging bear, head lowered and seething in rage. "This is what your kind does. You bullies show up uninvited, weapons drawn, just taking what you want by force. Well we've had enough!" A brilliant green shaft of light ignites from Rowan's hand with a distinct, familiar hum. My stunned eyes strain to register what I'm seeing: a civilian standing before us with a lightsaber.

Quinlan jumps in front of Siri and I, sabre held high. "Sir, we have warned you. Back off! This is not your concern."

I'm watching an ensuing catastrophe unfold in slow motion before my eyes. "Quinlan, wait-"

Suddenly Rowan raises a firm palm toward Quinlan, sending him hurdling back, tumbling across the courtyard.

"No!" Siri yells, and lunging toward him. As I see Rowan's green sabre lifted in the air, I feel my hands move of their own will to raise my blaster high and squeeze the trigger. He crumples forward, eyes wide, lightsaber falling from his hand and clattering to the ground. I drop my blaster and rush forward, catching Rowan before he falls. His great weight takes me down with him, and I fall to my knees, cradling his panting form in my arms.

The whole crowd is silent, watching us in shock and disbelief. I pull Rowan's robe and tunic aside to inspect the wound, praying it isn't a fatal shot. I suddenly feel his cold, bloodied hand grasp mine and hold it still. I meet his gaze; his eyes are wide, and his lips are moving soundlessly, struggling to tell me something. I can only stare back at him, inexplicable tears beginning to sting my eyes.

There's a jostling in the crowd. I hear several people run up to us, and the silence is suddenly pierced by a woman's scream. "Papa!" I snap my gaze up to see his children standing pale and open-mouthed at the periphery of the crowd.

The senator, with her sickening smile, shakes her head at me. "Oh, my. You've really done it now, sweetie."

Suddenly I feel hands clamp down on my arms and hoist me into the air. Rowan's body tumbles lifelessly out of my lap and onto the cold ground. I feel the barrel of a blaster jammed into my temple, and arms wrap tightly around my waist.

"Get off of me!" I hear Siri protesting from somewhere behind me. I try to look back at her, but feel metal crack my forehead and send my vision into a dark tailspin. I can't see anything, but can still feel my limp body being dragged; I can hear shouts of approval in the crowd, wails of anguish from Rowan's family.

A man's voice enters the fray. "Step back everyone, I'm a doctor. Sir, can you hear me? Mr. Kenobi, stay with me!"

"I'm fine," I mumble. The world slowly returns and I shake my head, blinking my eyes until things come back into focus. I realize I'm alone. The doctor wasn't talking to me. He's kneeling, grunting in strain with each forceful chest compression. He's kneeling over Rowan. He was talking to Rowan. Trying to resuscitate Rowan. The man I just murdered.


	8. The Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get real hairy

A boot collides into my back, hurdling me down into the snow onto my stomach. A hand clamps over the back of my head and grinds my cheek onto the cold, icy concrete. Siri is violently forced down into the same position a few feet from me, and we stare at each other unable to say a word. I feel more hands roughly pull my arms behind my back and ignite a pair of laser cuffs onto my wrists, singeing the skin. I watch as other guards roughly frisk Siri, take her lightsaber, and cuff her as well. Through the cacophony of cries, jeers, and jostling bodies, I just stare into Siri’s wide, frozen eyes. A pool of Rowan’s blood slowly creeps over the ground between us.

“Let go of me!” I hear Quinlan protest. “You can’t do this! Let us go!”

I can’t seem to say a word or move. I just watch the viscous flow of blood; watch it slowly soak into the snow, a contrast of bright white and brilliant crimson. All sounds are muffled and distant. All I can hear is the barely audible screams and cries of anguish.

A pair of boots suddenly appear at my face, and a man crouches down. It’s the doctor. I look up at him with relief, but he doesn’t meet my gaze; instead he pulls aside my collar and I feel a sting and a warm flush of fluid into my neck. By the time I let out a gasp, he pulls the needle out, wheals around and walks toward Siri.

I can’t see her past the doctor, but I hear the panic in her voice. “What is that?” Her legs begin to kick and the guards shove her limbs harder into the ground. She lets out a small whimper, and without a word the doctor quickly gets up and proceeds to Quinlan.

A terrifying silence engulfs me; the world loses all depth and clarity. I feel naked, utterly helpless. I have such a vulnerable sensation and I strain to look around me in a complete paranoid panic.

The cure. The Force inhibiter drug. I shudder, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.

Hands clamp around my arms and lift me painfully into the air, shoving me forward. Everything suddenly goes black as a bag is pulled over my head. I can’t help but stumble as I’m forced forward, soon being made to step up into what feels like the back of a vehicle and roughly shoved onto a hard, metal seat. When Siri and Quinlan are loaded up as well, the doors slam shut and we begin to move. Defiantly, I shake my head until the sack is thrown off, and I can see the others have done the same. A trickle of blood flows from Siri’s nose and I want to scream.

“As soon as those doors open, we need to make a break for it.” She says.

“We can try,” Quinlan sounds defeated. “Don’t forget we’re unarmed and they have blasters. It’s probably not worth it at this stage. We still don’t even know what’s going to happen. Maybe we’ll just sit in a cell overnight and be released.”

“Doubtful.” I whisper. “The others weren’t so lucky.”

“Then this is our chance to find them.” Siri says. “We’ll finally find out where they are and what happened to them.”

“And what’s going to happen to us!” Quinlan adds with mock excitement, earning a kick to the shin from Siri.

Through my trembling, I force a weak smile. Just breath, Obi. Keep breathing and everything’s going to be okay. Siri glances over at me, her blue eyes wide with worry, but thankfully she doesn’t say anything. They both must have heard it. “_Mr. Kenobi._” They both saw him force push, Quinlan getting the brunt of it. They both saw him wield that crude lightsaber. But none of us dare to bring it up. They just let me quietly hyperventilate while they mercifully just sit staring at the floor.

A flash of Anakin’s tearful face invades my mind. I’m abandoning him without warning yet again. He won’t be quick to forgive me this time. If I don’t make it, our last words to one another were bitter and hurtful. I remember how he was able to keep our bond the last time, and I close my eyes, chanting apologies through the Force in the hopes he can hear me. But I get no answer. It’s nothing but static, the line has gone dead. I shiver again in fear and wonder if this is how afraid everyone is all the time, which brings a heavy sadness deep in my chest.

The truck comes to a halt and we have to communicate through wordless looks alone. There’s no room to stand, but we poise ourselves for a fight. As soon as the doors fly open, a small canister is tossed in, and it clatters to a halt between us. Before I register what it is, it spews out a thick gas that sends us into convulsing coughs and burns my eyes shut. Masked figures poor into the truck and shove the bags back over our heads. I throw a few kicks, but hit nothing but air. Hands grab hold of my arms and pull me out so hard I trip and stumble onto my knees, only to be pulled back up and marched forward into the dark void. I feel as though any second I’ll step over the edge of the planet and fall into endless space.

“Here we go again, guys! Hang in there, we’ll see each other again in no time!” I yell as loudly as I can, but my voice waivers and cracks. This earns a blow to the gut with the butt of a blaster.

I hear no response, and feel the air change and the sound of a door sealed closed behind me. Soon I’m brought into a room, shoved onto a seat and the bag is pulled off of my head again. My already burning eyes squint in the onslaught of light. There’s a metal table in front of me and an empty chair on the other side. As guards shuffle in and out of the room, blasters held low, sharing a few inaudible words between them, I just watch their movements and try desperately to control my shivering. My jaw clenches so tightly I feel like my teeth will shatter. A man in simple tunics suddenly enters the room, trailed by the doctor from the rally. I scan the man’s face, searching for signs of familiarity, but I’ve never seen him before.

Without looking at me, he begins to read from the papers on his clipboard. “Sir, you are being placed under arrest by order of Representative Adelare of Stewjon for charges of assault and espionage-”

“Can I contest these charges?” I squeak.

He just continues, and doesn’t look at me. “These are Class IV felony charges, of which you have been found guilty, and your sentence was handed down at 08:40 on the morning of the 18th day of the waning moon stage-”

“Where are our comrades? Where are you holding them?”

“-you have been sentenced to medical experimentation. The benefit to the community resulting from your sentence has been deemed proportionate to the harm caused by your crime. Should you survive, you will be accepted back into the community and your sacrifice will be lauded by all.”

I’m stuck on a loop. I just stare ahead, face frozen, quietly repeating, “where are my friends? I need to find them.” My gut collapses in, goes completely numb. The numbness spreads to the rest of my body and takes hold until I can’t move or scream or try to run away. Like I’m stuck in a dream where I’m trying run through sludge from an impending doom and it catches me.

I don’t move as guards close in around me, and the doctor steps forward with a syringe. The guards take hold of my arms and I put up a pathetic fight. He doesn’t even look me in the eyes as he sticks the needle into my neck again. The man with the clipboard scratches a few signatures onto the pages, then wheels out the door without another word. The doctor finally pauses and meets my gaze, just staring with the strangest look for several moments. I open my mouth to speak but he suddenly reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder.

“I know he was your father.” He whispers to me.

I stare at him wide eyed.

“Don’t worry, no one else knows. You look as though you could have fit right into the Kenobi clan. And you’re a Jedi. It all fits. You’re what sparked this movement, when they kidnapped you as a baby.”

“Kidnapped?”

“They came in the night. They took you. Your mother died trying to fight them away. The cowards just ran off this planet and they never saw you again. You were just an infant.”

I feel my cheeks getting wet and realize I’m crying. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He tilts his head and squeezes my shoulder, “I know, child.”

“Why can’t I leave?”

“It’s too late, it’s already done. You’re a Jedi now. You’re a Capitol elite, no longer a Stewjoni.” He glares into empty space beyond me and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry.”

As he turns to leave, I almost want to reach out and grab hold of his jacket, begging him to stay. My trembling becomes uncontrollable as he disappears out the door, and I begin to hyperventilate as the guards close in around me. One of them closes the door and the others force me to my feet. An older man approaches and suddenly throws a fist. I can’t lift my arms to block, so I just duck my head. Not good enough – I feel the impact and am thrown down onto the table. Hands descend and hold me down onto the table and grab hold of my legs.

Someone comes forward with a pair of scissors and begins to tear my shirt open and I let out a scream of outrage, “Stop! What are you doing?”

As cloth is torn away and my skin is exposed to the freezing air, I kick and struggle as hard as I can in total futility. I just focus on trying not to look at anyone, and try desperately to not let the tears flow as I lay trembling on the cold, metal table, feeling clothes being forcefully ripped off me. Qui-Gon always told me my excessive modesty was bound to be my downfall one day, my Achilles heel. I clench my shaking fists and bite my lip so hard I taste blood. When I’m down to my undergarments, they lift me into a standing position again and undo the laser cuffs, still gripping my arms securely. I feel like I’m collapsing into myself, trying to look as small as possible. I struggle to fake a stoic face, but my trembling and wet eyes betray me.

A younger man steps forward with thin, grey clothing and I thank the Force profusely. I don’t fight as they roughly shove the scratchy, threadbare shirt over my head, guiding my arms into the sleeves and legs into the pants. I let out a sigh of utter relief, but still feel the chill in the air through the thin barrier. I still feel the waves of humiliation rush over me, even though I was probably uncovered for only several moments. _Some Jedi Knight, you are. What a disgrace._

I’m pushed forward and walked out of the room, down a bleak, white hallway. “…_should you survive_…” There’s a chance I’ll make it out of here. They don’t intend to kill me. If I never give up, and take any opportunity to escape, I may just make it through this. I’ll find the others, and break them free too. I scan the walls of the hallway, searching for signs of other cells, places where the others may be held. It’s OK, we’ll make it out of here.

We reach the end of the hall, and one steps forward and opens a door. A very bright, white room, and figures moving, unnoticing of us, absorbed in work. They’re readying something. They’re centered around a table. With straps on it and medical equipment surrounding it. They’re in white jackets with caps and face masks. They’re holding syringes, picks, scalpels. And I’m being brought to the table. I let out a gasp and try to grind my feet into the floor. They tug on my arms even harder, and one of them starts to reach down to my legs.

“No!” I can’t help but scream.

One of the doctor’s narrowed, fiery eyes dart up. “Get him on the goddam table!”

One man lunges down and wraps his arms around my legs, lifting them up. I start to kick and flail my legs free, kicking him in the face in the process so he stumbles backwards into a metal table, knocking the tools to the floor in a loud clatter. Some of the doctors and nurses drop what they’re doing and start to come toward me. I get my feet back on the floor and plant them hard again, wriggling and tugging my arms. I can’t help a chocked sob. This isn’t happening. I can’t believe this.

I wrench my arm free, excitement and panic erupting in my belly, and I start elbowing the man in the chest and stomach. I get my leverage and then slip my other arm out in one quick pull, and start to spin around back toward the door. I dodge a set of hands that lunge toward me and I grab ahold of the knob, gasping for breath. I feel a set of vices wrap around my waist and hoist me up in the air. The breath is forced out of my lungs. Suddenly the door is getting further away from my outstretched hands.

“Let go of me! You can’t do this!” I scream again, kicking like a child.

One lucky blow gets him right in the groin and I’m dropped to the floor. Without venturing a glance behind me, I jump to my feet and dive for the door again. I manage it open, flinging it wide. I’m so surprised by this, how lucky can I be? Don’t blow this. I pick right and sprint down the hall in a complete haze. The white walls and fluorescents flash by me in a big blur and I don’t know where I am anymore, or remember how we got here. I start to panic again. I hear the slapping of shoes on the tile behind me, and yelling. Shit.

I stop and look left- a door. I go inside and slam the door closed behind me. Something, find anything. A large file cabinet to my right. I push it to the door, the sharp metal screeching on the tiles. I shove it into the door, and start desperately searching for more. Boxes. Those too I lug to the door, stacked as tight as possible, with loud shouts and banging growing on the other side.

It’s so loud I can’t control my trembling, so I back away to the center of the room. A weapon. Find a weapon. It’s hard to search, I’m panting too hard. I have to wipe the sweat out of my eyes as I scan the room. Concentrate. A box cutter, left on top of one of the boxes! It’s small, but it will do. I grab it and extend the blade as far as it will go- only a couple of inches. That’s fine. I stand with the knife at the ready and stare down the door, breathing, waiting. I feel robbed of my senses; going into the fray blind and deaf. There’s a good chance I won’t make it out of here.

I shiver violently, barely able to grip the knife. The room quakes in a massive boom. I turn away from the flash, swallowed by the reverberations. I look back at the door and see silhouettes pour into the room toward me through the thick wall of smoke. There’s shouting. I hold the knife up and get into a fight stance.

Pain erupts on my left eyebrow and I let out a stunned yelp. The force whirls me around onto my knee. Only now do my ears catch up; it was the crack of a baton on my face. I try to regain control but blood pours into my eyes, and I can’t see anything. Suddenly a steal toe boot collides with my nose and I’m thrown backward, coughing up blood. My vision goes black and I feel hands all over me again. Come on, come on! Fight! I get some sight back, and I see I’m back in the hall again, practically being dragged. I blew it, what have I done?

Come on, whatever you have left, use it. Don’t give up yet! I struggle to get my feet back under me. I kick, wrench, pull. One of them gets under and hoists up my legs again, and they carry me down the hall as I try to flail them free. They get me through the doorway of the operating room and I fling a hand out, grabbing ahold of the frame. This makes them stumble enough to get my other hand on there to pull even harder.

“What the fuck is taking so long, get him on this table now!” I hear a bellow behind me.

One of the guards takes out his baton again and slams it against my hands repeatedly until I can’t take it anymore and my fingers slip away. They get me near the table, the nurses holding open the leather straps.

I lock eyes with the doctor, pleading as hard as I can with my stare. “You can’t do this. Don’t do this.” The words barely escape on frantic gasps for breath.

He just stands there, eyes cold above an obscured, masked face. The guards slam me down into the table. The hard plastic is cold and I attempt to push away, but they lift me into the air again, slamming me back down into it.

“No!” I scream as hands clasp down on every limb, holding them into place no matter how hard I jerk and kick.

I feel the leather straps wrap around all over my arms and legs. They clamp down on my chest and hips. I feel the tight pinch and loss of circulation as each strap is synched down tight. The white coats close in around me. Metal stands and tables are wheeled in, the shiny tools glinting in the bright lights. My sleeves are tugged up so that a needle pierces into each arm. Probes and temperature readers affixed all over my skin. Machines click on, whirring to life, beeping and clicking in rhythm. I see one bag connected to the tubes in my arm being lifted to the hanger. Amphetamine. What? Why?! Why would they need to keep me awake? A huge light is positioned right above me, so painfully bright I have to turn my head away. But hands wrap around either side of my face and force it straight on again. They hold on tight as duct tape is pulled over my mouth and the whole roll goes around and around, wrapping my head and the table together. I can’t even get in one last scream. My nose is till swollen and full of blood and I can barely get in air. I think I’ll die of suffocation before these people kill me.

I start to whimper uncontrollably, but the sound is so distant and muffled under the layers of tape and that it frightens me even more. I can’t do this. Any desire to put up a stoic front, to not let them think they’ve gotten to me, has completely disintegrated. I close my eyes and feel tears begin to flood.

I feel my shirt lifted up. I open my eyes and see a glimpse of huge scissors, slicing my shirt open down the middle. I let out the loudest yell of protest I can, and clamp my eyes shut again. I feel a cold liquid painted onto my stomach that makes me twitch in shock. Iodine. I can smell it. I’m assaulted by the stench of chemicals. I open my eyes in time to catch the glint of a scalpel and I feel myself hyperventilating. The cold metal touches. Oh my God, it’s going to be okay. I can get through this. Pressure. Then it penetrates, fast. The pain explodes from my stomach all throughout my body like a lightning bolt. I scream, but I can barely hear myself. I pull at each restraint as hard as I possibly can.

“Synch those tight!” The doctor barks.

I feel the leather straps ratcheted even tighter and I’m paralyzed. The knife slices, moving down my skin slowly. I feel hot liquid pouring onto the skin; I hear it drip to the floor. My brain is wild with pain, flashing and pulsing and slipping me away into insanity. I can’t scream or kick or pull enough, nothing I do takes the agony away, I can’t take this. The cold knife goes away, but now I feel his gloved hands inside, prodding. A new pain like I’ve never felt before, like I’ve never imagined.

I can’t bear to open my eyes to see what he’s doing. I feel something inside, cold. I let out a chocked cry. Suddenly, I hear a voice in my ear. “This all could have been avoided.” I open my eyes and see the familiar flash of blond and pure, white skin. The look of utter dissapointment. The same dead eyes. “If only you just cooperated, stopped trying to meddle in our affairs. If you just listed to our warning and left this planet. You left us no choice.”

I want to glare at her, to tear free and tackle her to the ground. But I just stare, unable to make a sound, and she smiles at my tears. The senator looks up at the doctors, then smirks back at me. “They’re putting the bomb in you. Now you won’t be able leave. I warned you.”


	9. Get Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if anyone was annoyed by the delay in chapters. My dad passed away recently and I wasn't really up to writing for a while.

_ A glint of light reflecting off the smooth fuselage of a passing ship scatters through the glass of the window and ignites Qui-Gon’s smiling face in a warm, orange glow. He brings a steaming mug to his lips and listens as Anakin excitedly talks from the cushion beside him. They both laugh at some joke I couldn’t hear, then smile together at me. I know they said something funny so I laugh with them, watching the skin crinkle around Qui-Gon’s eyes. I feel this pull from deep within, and know that I have to leave them. They’re not mine to have, and I’m not a part of this happiness. A bitter-sweetness washes over this moment and my smile fades. I rise from my seat and turn once more at the doorway to watch them laugh together. Anakin’s face is bright as he eagerly continues his story, and Qui-Gon silently listens, with such love and pride in his eyes. I know I have to leave, but don’t know where I can go. This loneliness is utterly profound. But I know this is the way it was supposed to be, and I don’t mind one bit. My role was meant to be no role at all. I smile at the two of them and turn to leave. _

_ As I walk down the grand hall, I pass by fellow Jedi, walking and talking together. Eventually as the crowd thickens, I pass through them, like I’m made of air. Some smile at me, but most carry on and don’t acknowledge my existence, and I’m perfectly fine with that. The pull from deep within guides me out the Temple doors, and down the entry steps, toward the detached chaos of the streets below. I know Qui-Gon and Anakin can see me from the windows high above. I know they’re happy together, and that’s all I need. I’ll miss them so much. _

With a gasp, I jolt awake and attempt to sit up. I’m stopped by the pull of leather straps around my chest and on my wrists and ankles. I sputter on the fluids in my throat, and with each cough I feel searing pain erupt from my lower abdomen. I attempt to blink away the blurry clouds in my eyes, and struggle to recall why I’m in so much pain. There’s a faint pulsing from deep inside. It throbs in a relentless rhythm. “…_they’re putting the bomb in you…”_

My whole body goes numb, my mouth feels like its stuffed with dry cotton. I imagine myself tearing my skin open, clawing into my gut until I get the bomb out and smash it on the wall, but I just lay still, paralyzed, fighting the tears of rage. I’ll never leave this planet alive. Not unless I can get it out. I close my eyes, breathing, and reach out into the Force to find any hint of Siri, Quinton, or Anakin. It feels like my whole body is tumbling down into an abyss; an onslaught of screams and voices and intense, desperate movement, like the flurry of snowflakes in a blizzard. Impossible to grasp, passing by so quickly and melting away instantly in my hands if I ever manage to grab hold. I snap my eyes open and struggle to fight the wave of nausea. They must have dosed me up with another Force Inhibitor. I’ll have to find them on my own.

I look around the room for anything I can use. Other than my wheeled bed and medical equipment, there’s nothing else in this bare cell. There are bars on the upper part of the door, and no other window to the outside world. A distant scream echoes down the hall. It doesn’t stop. It’s desperate, full of terror and agony. And it sounds sickeningly like Siri. I try to cry out her name but choke on the pain in my abdomen from the effort. I’m coming, darling.

With all my might, I pull my arms up and attempt to squeeze my hands as small as possible. I manage to pull a few inches of my hands free of the restraints, taking a layer skin with it. The monitor placed beside my bed begins to beep rapidly in time with my heart. Then footsteps. I hear them in the hall, approaching my door. With a wave of panic, I begin to kick my legs wildly and yank my arms, the monitors beeping and wailing, as if telling on me. Keys in the lock, the slide of a metal bolt. The door opens and in pours a man with ghostly pale skin and facial tattoos, storming toward me with the most terrifying glare. In his hand is a bat. He lifts it above his head, and cracks it down over my shins. I let out a scream, more of surprise than pain. He reaches over and grabs my jaw, boring his fingers in, and roughly pulls my face over until it’s level with his. Those furious eyes bore into mine, and I can’t help the trembling.

“I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up and stay still, Capitol scum.” He seethes, his voice a menacing whisper.

Several nurses come into the room, one pulling latex gloves on with a look of exhausted frustration. He walks over to me, lifting up my shirt, and peels away blood-soaked gauze. I nearly gasp when I see the angry, massive scar; the skin bright red and weeping where the crude stitches meet flesh. He gently rubs his gloved fingers over the length of the scar and I wince in pain.

“Well it looks okay; he didn’t rupture anything or break any of the stitches. You need to be more careful though,” he’s talking to me now without bothering to look at me. “You’re not getting out of here until we’re done with you, so if I were you, I’d be focusing on saving my strength and trying to survive this. Not many people are lucky enough to live through this, but you might actually have a chance if you cooperate.”

“They never fucking do,” the man with the bat shakes his head.

“Please, are my friends alright?”

He grips my hair and shoves my face into his again. He nearly tears the scalp off scull as he shakes my head and spits into my face, “what did I just fucking tell you? Be quiet!”

The nurse grips his shoulder and shoots him a hard glare. “Hey, come on. Cool it. Just back off, okay. Let us do our jobs.”

The man with the bat backs away as the other nurses close in. One steps forward with his data-pad. “Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to bring him in for further testing. He’s already awake and responsive, we might as well take advantage of it.”

“What’s next on the agenda?”

“Survival testing.”

The tattooed man lingers in the corner. He sees my look of shock and confusion and his lips curl up into a twisted smirk. “It means they’re gonna see what it takes to kill you. Don’t worry, the protocol is three attempts at resuscitation for all subjects. I’m sure it won’t take more than that to bring you back.”

One nurse unlocks the brakes on my wheeled bed and begins to cart me out of the room. As we pass down the hall, I sneak glances all around me, studying doors and passing guards, straining to listen for the sources of screams, any familiarity in the voices. In the corner of my eye, I catch the bat, swinging back and forth into my field of view with the gait of the tattooed man, who walks alongside me. We arrive in a room full of guards, who waste no time in hurriedly undoing my straps and pulling me off the bed. I wince in pain, but hold in any sound. A man I don’t recognize comes forward, shining a small light into my eyes, and grabbing hold of my wrist to record my pulse on his clipboard. He pulls out a small recording device and begins speaking into it while he waves a scanner across my face.

“Patient O2 100%, BP 120/80, pulse elevated at 110. Possibly dirty data, will need to measure again. Begin test number one, hypothermia threshold.”

With that the guards pull me away toward a door. As soon as it opens, I’m blinded by a wash of light and feel myself being flung forward into the open air until I crash down onto my hands and knees. Through squinted eyes, I see them attaching chains to my wrists that hold me down to the snowy ground. The assault of cold already begins as I peer around and see that I’m in a walled courtyard. The sun shines happily oblivious, but I feel no warmth. Tiny ice crystals dance in the perfect, azure sky.

“Begin the test.”

One guard kneels to turn a tap, and several nozzles positioned around me turn on and blast frigid water all over me. I gasp involuntarily, and begin to hyperventilate as I struggle to get my breath back. I crumple in on myself, ducking my head to escape the spray of water.

The doctor hands one of the guards a defibrillator. “I’ll be back in three hours. If he dies before then, you have my permission to administer life support. If he shows signs of returning Force sensitivity, you’re authorized to use another dose. As many as it takes.”

My heart is thundering in my chest; my lungs spasm uncontrollably. The guards sit down or begin talking to one another, huddled together and shivering for warmth in the growing clouds of warm breath. I shake violently and little chocked whimpers eak out of me uncontrollably.

I remember sitting beside the creek with Anakin in the moonlight, telling him about Force thermoregulation, proud to show off how I didn’t need my cloak, wishing beyond anything to be back there. Wishing to see him again. “…_you should have died, not him…” _It looks like you’ll get your wish, young one.

Come on, idiot, the principles haven’t changed. You don’t need a sense of the Force to get through this. Calm your mind, calm your breath. Breathe. Good. Conserve your energy, control the shivering. Get your mind right.

What would I do if I saw her again? If I flung open her cell door, freed her from her shackles? If we grabbed hands and tore down the halls together and broke through the perimeter and dashed into the forest and kept running and running? We would huddle together again, like we did on Cirrus. We’d find a cave and keep each other warm through the night. I’d stroke my fingers along the smooth, angled lines of her jaw, and travel up to her full lips and finally know what they feel like against my skin. I’d undo the violence wrought upon us by giving her a kind and gentle caress to match every blow or violation we experienced, and try to take away the scars it leaves in her mind. If I could just take her hand and squeeze it, that would be enough for me. Focus on that. That’s the goal. I will do it, and she will be alive. This I can promise.

My arms give, and I collapse into the soaking ground. The water under my cheek hardens and adheres to my cheek. There’s a blurry movement of guards, and suddenly everything is quiet and a blanket of frigid air settles over me. It creeps into every bit of exposed skin, deep into every wrinkle of clothing that’s now fused into flesh. I crack open my eyes and no longer see the endless gush of water, just people beginning to crowd around me and block out the sun. A thermo-reader is waved over my face, a pulse-monitor is clipped to my wrist, and crouching guards look down at clipboards and mumble unintelligibly at each other. A wave of bliss and calm washes over me as my eyelids flutter closed. My freezing limbs scream in agony, but I can’t seem to shiver anymore. I just don’t have the strength. I just don’t care.

“Hey,” a voice whispers into my ear. They snap their fingers in my face until I open my eyes. “Hang in with us, okay? We got a few more rounds of this. Just think of the good you’re doing, maybe that will help.”

“W-what? What good?” I stutter through chattering teeth.

The nurse stares for a few moments, his lips pursed, reticent. He stands up and signals something to the guards, who back away and turn the nozzles back on.

.

.

……..

.

.

The little mouse walks over to the tray on the floor, sniffs at the globs of untouched food. Some of his whiskers dip into the grey slop and are covered in it, and I crack a small smile. Then he scurries away, slinking back under the door. Just like that my little buddy is gone; I’m alone again. I exhale onto my freezing hands and pull the thin blanket tighter around me.

Keys rattle in the lock, and I tense up, drawing my knees up into my chest and slink further back into the corner.

“It’s alright, I got this one. You can finish the rounds.” A woman whispers to someone outside in the hall, then she comes in. Without another word, she attaches probes to my wrists and forehead and starts annotating the results on her clipboard.

“H-hello t-there.” I have to get this teeth chattering under control.

To my shock she actually looks up at me and flashes a polite smile. “So, you’re him,” she says.

“Wh-what were you expecting?”

She just smiles and slowly shakes her head. “I don’t know. You definitely look like a Kenobi, I can see that now.”

I feel my face flush.

“Could you roll up your sleeve so I can get a quick blood draw?”

“I’m not used to you guys asking my permission for this.” I drop the blanket, but hesitate. She’s so nice, but something compels me to resist. Respectful but uncooperative, that’s always our mandate.

She gently rests her hand on my arm and looks into my eyes. “It’s really okay. Let’s get this done so I can submit these results to the labs without any fuss. That’s all they want, then they’ll give us a break for a bit.”

I sigh and roll my sleeve up. She takes my arm and has to hold it firmly to aim her needle amidst my shivering. “S-so when will this shaking s-stop? I feel like it’s getting w-worse.”

She laughs. “It’s called afterdrop. Basically, after treatment for hypothermia you get a little worse before you get better. It’s from the blood now returning to your extremities, which your core translates as you being in the danger zone again. It’ll pass.” She takes a glance over at my tray on the floor. “It would really help if you ate your dinner. I know when you passed out, they gave you some glucose drips, but you need a little protein and fat in you.”

“Can’t say I have much of an appetite. W-what with all the stress and all.”

She smiles and adds another tube to the needle. I watch in detached fascination as it fills with deep red blood. Once she fills and marks all her tubes, she slips the needle back out and tapes a little cotton ball to the skin.

“Well you passed with flying colors today, bravo.”

“Oh lucky me!” I can’t help but laugh out loud.

“Yeah, you were a tough one to crack. I guess they had to do a good eight rounds before you finally lost consciousness. They didn’t even have to use the AED, they were able to keep your heart going the whole time.”

“So w-what exactly was all t-that for, anyway?” My voice cracks like an adolescent.

“Well, the data helps us develop treatment protocols and possibly new preventative drugs for when personnel might be at risk for hypothermia.”

“What personnel?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Whoever asks for it. Mine workers, the Army, Jedi. Whoever wants to pay for the patents we develop.”

“Jedi? You’re not serious.”

“Well maybe, I just assume. We get a lot of Republic contracts. I just assume it’s either for use by military or Jedi.” She looks at me thoughtfully. “I’d be a little more questioning of my higher-ups if I were you. You don’t always know how deep this rabbit hole goes.”

“Follow the money.” I smirk at her playfully, but feel my stomach turning. 

“I can see the relation, by the way.” She says.

“Pardon?”

“To Rowan. You have his spirit. At least, before everything that happened. He used to be a lot like you. A charmer, never taking anything too seriously.”

“Before what exactly?”

Her face is grave now, and she doesn’t look back up at me as she begins putting her equipment away. “Before the Republic started making all those raids and taking infants. Taking you. And before his wife…your mother…died.”

“Is it really true that she was killed in a raid? It wasn’t a Jedi, was it?”

She gives me such a sad look. “I know you may not believe me, but yeah. When the ruling came down that Jedi envoys could collect Force sensitive infants, most people didn’t fight it. I guess they figured they didn’t have a choice. A lot of planets even saw it as an honor. They reached out to the Republic to take their kids, like it would make their families famous! A lot of those people turned out to be full of shit, though. They made up some story about how their baby made their teething toy float or something, but the Jedi always saw right through it.”

“But she fought back? My…mother?”

“The whole Kenobi clan did, yeah. There was no investigation into her death or anything. Claims of self-defense.” She looks down at the floor, as if deep in thought.

“No offense, but you don’t seem like the type of person that would work here. Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m sympathetic to the highest bidder, my dear.” She gins at me and winks, slipping her lanyard over her head and handing it me. There’s a little plastic card with her smiling photo dangling on the end. I hold it in my hand and just stare in shock.

“I always admired your father. He really meant well, when he started all this. I think things just really got out of hand. I don’t blame him, though.” 

“I really don’t understand.”

“That’s my key-card, sweetie.” She pulls the strap of her medical bag over her shoulder and stands up. “Here’s what’s going to happen tonight. I’m going to turn in your results to the lab, and they’re going to crunch their data or whatever the hell they do. I’m going to go home, take a nice bath, and go to sleep. And you’re going to do whatever it takes to get out of here. Tonight.”

“Wait, what!? What the hell are you talking about?” I nearly shout.

She holds her finger up to her lips and takes a quick glance back at the door. “My partner is probably just finishing up the 22:00 rounds now, which means you have a good two hours before the next set. Use my key-card. Get out of here. Head into the woods, and when you hear three blasts of a whistle, go toward the sound.”

“Who will be there?”

“Your family. They’re the ones who payed me.” She starts to turn toward the door.

“Wait! I have friends here, I can’t leave them. And why can’t you stay with me? It would be so much easier to get out of here with help.”

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. They didn’t pay me quite enough for that. Tomorrow I’m going to claim you stole my key-card. I don’t want to be connected to this any more than I have to. And if you want to save your friends, fine. I really wouldn’t recommend it, though. Your best shot at getting out of here is to do it alone.” She walks back over to me and plants a kiss on top of my head. “Good luck.”

I grip the lanyard in a trembling hand as I watch her slip out the door. I wait and listen, but there’s no sound of the door being locked. Just her footsteps fading down the hall.


	10. On Killing

I squeeze the lanyard and stare into my lap, trying to control my breath. What do I do? She said I needed to leave tonight. Alone. That’s my best chance. Then I can come back for them. 

No, you can’t leave them. But she said I was better off on my own. And she’s right. You know she’s right. You can always come back, with help. With my…family.

They’re probably waiting for me in the woods. She said there would be a signal. They’re probably waiting to hear me running around out there, then they’ll blow their whistle. Or they’ll sense my presence. Are the rest of them Force sensitive, too? God, will they hate me for killing Rowan? Is this just a trap to get their revenge? Why would they pay to bust me out of here after what I did to their patriarch? But I didn’t know. Surely, they understand that.

I just stare at the door breathless, paralyzed. God, what do I do? I know I have to leave on my own. But can I live with myself for leaving them? Is that in itself even more selfish, to attempt to bring them with me just to save face? Why am I even debating this?

I let the blanket slip off my shoulders as I rise to a standing position with shaking knees. If the opportunity presents itself, I will take advantage of it. But without the connection to the Force, I’m truly stepping into the unknown. This sense of vulnerability is utterly terrifying.

I struggle to control my breathing as I take careful steps toward the door and grip the handle. I take a pause to listen for any sounds in the halls but can’t make out any voices, radio chatter, or footsteps. I push the heavy door aside just enough to peer through and look for any cameras. Suspiciously, I see only one in this hall. It looks in my direction then lazily turns away. I hold my breath and slip out into the hall, like taking the plunge into deep, cold water.

I will my limbs to move and reach the nearest cell door. I peer through the small window and try to make out the sleeping form on the cot, but don’t dare try to wake the person. I fling the key-card up to the door as if by instinct but just stare at how useless it looks against the traditional metal lock. I couldn’t get anyone out of these cells if I tried. Not with this.

I hear a door open and close down an adjacent corridor and freeze in terror. There are no rooms to duck into, so I just break into a run down the hall, trotting on the balls of my feet as quietly as I possibly can, praying no cameras are following me. I still have no weapon to defend myself, and my throbbing cheekbone from yesterday’s fight is a sad reminder of my previous failure. 

As I run, I hear calm footsteps seemingly following me down the hall, but I don’t dare look back. I turn a corner and spot an open entrance to a lab. The only illumination is from the still running monitors and machines, but it looks otherwise empty. I dash inside, weaving ever deeper between the equipment and workstations, and spot a small metal cabinet under one of the counters and climb inside, closing the doors and holding my hand over my mouth to muffle the panting. Those calm footfalls continue to approach, with a playful whistling that gets louder and louder. Suddenly all the lights in the lab turn on. I hear the door latched closed and locked.

Maybe they’ll be done soon. It’s just one person, how much work could they have? Especially at this hour. I can wait them out. The whistling gets closer to the table I’m hiding beneath. I hold my hand tighter over my mouth.

My metal tomb explodes in echoes of something bashing several times against the doors. I gasp and jolt uncontrollably, kicking over nearby beakers in a loud clatter.

“Why don’t you come on out of there?” The voicing is grating and familiar.

I freeze, wide eyed, unsure if I can keep this up and still pretend I’m not here. The doors suddenly fling open and before I can adjust to the onslaught of light, someone reaches in and grabs me by the hair, yanking me out and up to my feet. I grip his wrist and stare up into his eyes, panting in fear and rage. I’m all too aware the lanyard fell out of my lap and is still inside the cabinet.

I’m transfixed by his piercing silver eyes, the pale, tattooed face, the unnerving grin. I’m a rabbit in the headlights. I sneak a glance downward and recognize the bat in his hand.

He suddenly begins to laugh. “I watched every second of that, you know. I saw you sneak out of your room, try to break someone else out. I was watching from the cameras in the security room down the hall from you, you fucking moron. You Jedi are truly senseless without your precious Force.”

I have a small twinge of worry, wondering if he saw the nurse leave my cell right before my escape. If he connected the dots and if there will be hell to pay for her.

“Well you made one grave error yourself, my friend.” I feign as much confidence as I can through my trembling voice.

He cranks my neck up toward his face more and I wince in pain. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I suspect you decided to take care of me alone. You didn’t call for backup. It’s just me and you in this room, and I’ve decided I’m leaving this place tonight.”

His eyes widen in glee. “Really, now? Is that so?” He cackles.

“Oh yes.”

The tattooed man lifts his bat and waves it around in my line of sight. “It would appear I’m the only one of us with a weapon, though.”

“Perhaps we can share.” I wink.

His smile twists into a terrifying snarl and he launches me back against the table, finally releasing my hair. Several more beakers are knocked over and shatter. We stare at one another, heaving, and I venture a glance at the door out of the corner of my eye. Running away won’t work this time. I think I have to kill this man.

He lifts the bat and swings it toward my skull. I drop to my knees and feel a rain of glass shatter down on top of me. Before he can strike again, I dart back up to my feet several steps away and we circle each other in silence once more.

A glint of light calls out to me from one of the tables, and I look over to see a large, savage shard of glass. I snatch it up, holding it out between us, watching the first few drops of blood drip from my palm. He chuckles and shakes his head at the sight, twirling the bat around, tauntingly.

I lunge forward, aiming the glass at his sternum. As he attempts to jump back, a table blocks his path and I’m able to make contact. He takes a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth and begins to flail the bat wildly. I start inching backward, darting back frantic glances to avoid being cornered by surrounding tables. I start to lose track of the bat amidst his mad swinging, and instead listen for the smashing glass or the sound of metal whistling through the air to know when to dodge. Exacerbated, I launce myself over the top of one of the counters to get distance between us and regroup. He stares at me panting like an enraged, wounded animal again. There’s blood lust in those eyes. As much as I pray desperately that no one has heard us and comes to investigate, neither does he. He makes no move to call for backup. Doesn’t touch the radio hanging on his belt. Nor does he seem to want to sedate me like the others have done. Like he could easily do.

“I don’t want to have to kill you.” I pant. “But I have to leave this place. And I’m not going to let you stop me.”

His glare never lets me go as he stalks around the counter towards me. “Oh, but I do want to kill you. And I will.”

“Why?” I beg of him.

“The fuck-”

“You know what I mean! What is with your grudge against me? Is it something you have with the Republic? I’m a Jedi, I don’t represent them!”

He slams the bat down hard on a metal countertop and I flinch. “That’s the worst part about you! You’re all they’re little pawns, and you don’t even seem to get it. You’re either lying to me, or just completely naïve. I frankly don’t know what’s worse. The only thing more dangerous than a Republic drone is one that yields all the power.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been hearing from…Rowan, or whomever. We’re not drones, or pawns, or whatever you’ve been led to believe. Please, we’re peacekeepers. Please let me get my friends so we can just leave this planet.”

“We’ve heard the transmissions! They’re already sending Republic forces to Stewjon! This is war!” His irate shouting makes me glance back at the door nervously again.

“Look what you’re doing!” I snap back, lifting up my shirt to show the ugly scar. “What, you expected zero consequences from this?”

“You ungrateful little brat. This is so much bigger than you. You’re helping save future generations from kidnappings, but all you people can ever think about is your own damn misery.”

He scrapes the bat off the table and starts walking toward me, shaking in rage.

“Well, you said it yourself, I’m part of a bigger plan now. What good am I dead?” I say with a cracking voice, backing away again.

“We have a 20% death rate in this program. I’m alright to lose a Jedi subject. I’ll just sneak you back into your room, and they’ll assume you died in the night. Your poor little heart gave out.”

“Right. A bashed in skull and they’ll assume natural causes…” I regret my sarcasm immediately.

His wicked grin is as disturbing as it is unexpected. “No one will care.”

I see him grab at something from a nearby countertop and fling it in my direction with pursed lips and hungry, gleeful eyes. In an instant, a hot liquid envelopes my face and my eyes begin to sear in such burning agony that I drop to my knees and claw at them screaming. I still feel his presence somewhere out there, nearby, so I stumble back up to my feet and hold my little shard of glass out into the air in front of me, utterly blind. I hear his laughter from somewhere beside me, and I try to whip around to meet him, struggling in vain to force my eyelids open. With my free hand, I rub as much of the offending chemical away as I can, and take a few cautious blinks, seeing nothing but formless shapes and shadow. The bastard must have turned the lights off when I was down.

I struggle to calm my breath so that I can listen for him. My heart beat echoes in my skull, making it all the more difficult. Then I hear the whistle, the blessed familiar, and wait just as the metal sings within inches of my skull before I drop to my knee and wheel around, slashing the shard of glass through the air blindly. I feel it make contact- I feel it slice through skin, eliciting a howl of pain, and I smile. I can’t waste a second. I hurl my body in the direction where my little blade made contact, and feel my shoulder slam into a solid, organic mass.

I will my eyelids to stay open harder than ever, and can barely make out his pale skin, the glint of his silvery teeth bared in rage. I manage to straddle his chest and pin down his arm, struggling to peal the bat out of his grip. A fist cracks into my jaw, sending me flying backward, and suddenly he’s on top of me, hailing blow after blow. I hold my arms over my face uselessly and feel my vision slipping away again. He grips my hair and begins slamming my head back down into the hard, tile floor repeatedly. As my world goes black, a little voice dances in my mind, reminding in detached kindness just how seriously this man intends to end my life. This will be the end if I don’t fight.

As he bashes my head into the floor, my hand carefully travels up the length of his arm, probing with curiosity until it finds its mark: the inner crook of his elbow. With a sharp jolt backward, I collapse that arm, and drive my other hand up into the shoulder. I dig my heals into the floor and launch him off of me with the impact of my hip. I’m able to regain enough sight to see the stunned look of shock on his face as I mount him once more, and seize the power of his surprise by wrapping my hands around his neck. His eyes grow ever wider and he thrashes his hands at me, tearing into my fingers or just flailing up at my arms and face. I’m careful to stay high up on my knees; his attempts to throw me by bucking his hips or wildling kicking his feet have no effect.

Through the increasingly erratic and desperate flailing of his feet, and the tearing of his fingernails into my hands, I let out a slow, methodic breath. I keep my eyes locked onto his and just concentrate on keeping myself upright and never easing up my grip, even as my arms quake and the sweat drips off my brow. I feel an intense surge of exhilaration erupt from my gut as the focus begins to wain from his eyes and I know I’m close. He’s no longer looking at me, but past me- through my head, and up at the ceiling, possibly all the way to the heavens. He sees or knows something now that I can’t possibly see or know. The thrashing of his legs slows to a useless flop and I watch as his fingers lose their grip around mine and the arms slip lifelessly to the floor. And I can’t tear my eyes away from his, not until I see this through. I feel the tears building, and start to heave violently in uncontrollable and inexplicable sobs, but I stay steady as I watch the life leave his eyes.

My fingers audibly creak as I will them to open, and only now do I realize how heavily I’m panting. All is still and silent, and I stay hovering over his body for several moments, watching and waiting, making sure he doesn’t move.

_ His eyes did the same thing. When he lay in my lap, I saw the life go out of them, too. _

I stagger off of his body and fall to my hands and knees, violently heaving up nothing but bile from my empty stomach. I stay like that for several moments, hyperventilating, watching a drop of something fall into the pool of acrid vomit. A tear. From the strain of retching, or the horror of what I’ve just done?

I can’t waste any time. I stagger to my feet and stumble like a drunkard back to the metal cabinet I was hiding in. I find the lanyard and do my best not to look back down

at him as I kneel down and scoop up his bat and make a dash for the door. I pause for several moments at the threshold, struggling to control my panting just enough to listen for anyone else, then step back out into the hall.

The harsh fluorescents dance and flash in my battered vision, and I have to run my fingers along the walls, feeling for doorways and bends in the halls, to navigate my way back to my cell. I find where I had stopped, where I heard him opening and closing a door from around the corner, before he followed me into the lab. I thank the Force that the lock accepts my key-card, and I slip inside the security office. I stare for a while at the ever-changing screens, but the empty halls broadcasted back at me say nothing. Beside the monitor is a clipboard of crinkled pages with multi-colored ink notations. Must be some kind of rounds checklist. The left-most column- names! _Tachi, S: cell 104. Vos, Q: cell 216. _

I rip the paper out and shove it into my pocket. Now I need a real key, a master key of some kind. As I riffle through the drawers, a panel on the wall catches my eye. With a flashlight, I’m able to make out the labels near each of the switches. One in particular jolts my stomach with utter excitement: _master lock release- cell block 1. _I scan a facility schematic to find Siri and Quinlon’s cell block numbers, then flick each of the switches, praying it doesn’t trigger any alarms.

Just holding my new bat is like a lifeline of confidence as I venture into the halls again. The sudden brightness brings tears to my wasted eyes, blurring my vision. I have to trace the room numbers with my fingertips to confirm what they say. When I reach 104, my heart leaps. The unlocked door slips open easily, and I scan the room with the flashlight. The cot is empty, sheets halfway hanging onto the floor. I call out her name uselessly, as if she’ll materialize out of thin air.

A wicked voice seems to whisper in detached amusement in my ear, “_she’s dead_.” Or perhaps dying. Somewhere. Could they still be holding her somewhere, doing their…experiments?

“Shit!” I seethe through gritted teeth, striking the wall. Closing her door, I head toward cell block 2. I find Quinlan’s door and pray he’s not missing as well. The door creaks slightly as I push it open, so I jump inside and close it quickly in case anyone comes to investigate. Someone groans and stirs from the cot, and a flood of relief washes over me.

“Quinlan!” I whisper, shining the flashlight toward him.

A bruised and battered face peers over the woolen blanket. “Obi?”

I rush over to him and place a stern hand on his chest to stop him from sitting up. With another loud groan, he acquiesces and lays back down. I carefully peel the blanket away and begin inspecting for any serious wounds or bleeding.

“Is this a fucking dream? Are you really here right now?” There’s still a hoarseness in his voice.

“I’m no apparition. This is very real.” My smile fades. “But I tried to find Siri. Her cell is empty, I don’t know where she is.”

“Oh, she escaped already.”

I freeze. “What?”

“Yeah, I overheard some of the guards talking about it this morning. I don’t know how she managed it, but fucking good for her!” He starts to laugh, but immediately chokes and starts convulsing over the edge of his cot, sprinkling blood on the floor with each cough. I rub circles on his back as I stare off, shocked.

She just left. She took her chance, and left. Did she know where I was? Did she think of me?

Quinlan snaps my attention back as he lays down, getting his breath back with a blood-spattered grin. “I’m so glad to see you. Are you okay?”

“I think I might be doing better than you. Do you think you can walk?”

“Oh, if it gets me out of this place, I’ll prance.”

I smile. “Not necessary. Here, let me help you. Once we’re out of here, I can get a closer look at your wounds.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I help him to his feet. I hold his quaking form close to mine and can feel his blood begin to seep into my clothes. I really start to worry. We need to be quick. I’m not sure if I can drag his unconscious body any distance.

“Do you have a key?” He asks as we limp together toward the door.

“The cells are unlocked. And I have a key-card for the main facility doors.”

“Well here’s hoping the others wake up and realize their doors are unlocked. If they can walk, that is.” Quinlan chuckles.

“You don’t think we should find them?” As I say it out loud, I realize how absurd the idea is. There were 15 of them. 15 security forces members kidnapped, somewhere in these halls. In varying states of health, maybe some dead, unknowable. Utterly overwhelming.

“Honestly, man, no. I’m no good to them like this. Maybe they’re better off in their cells. I can’t protect them if we’re caught.”

I say nothing and just stare off into the floor. Quinlan seems to sense my worry and adds, “Don’t worry, Obi. We’ll be back for them. We’ll get help and bust them out. Mission accomplished at least- we found where they were!”

“We don’t even know where we are.” My voice trails off and I don’t know if he heard me.

With one hand wrapped around Quinlan’s waist, and the other gripping the bat, we make our way slowly down the hallway. I search my memory for the facility schematic I saw, but start to panic as it all blurs together in my mind. We blindly turn corners, and duck into hallways at every suspicious sound.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Quinlan whispers.

Before I can answer, a familiar door catches my eye. I stare for several moments and realize this was where they dragged me into for that hypothermia experiment. It led to an outdoor courtyard.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” I grin, and pull him toward the door almost faster than he can stagger along with me.

Using the key-card, I open the door and see the gurney they had wheeled me in on. It sends a small shudder down my spine, but I hurry us along, forcing myself to look away. The card opens the second door, and a wall of chilled air engulfs us.

“You fucking did it!” Quinlan nearly yells.

“Well not just yet.” I say as I help him through the snow out into the courtyard. As our eyes adjust to the moonlight, the massive walls surrounding us come into form, and I can feel Quinlan’s posture sink.

“It’s alright, we’ll figure it out. We’re so close, Quinlan.”

“I don’t know if I can even lift myself over that.”

“Here,” I crouch down and place my interlaced fingers over my knee. “Step up. You’ll go first and pull me up.”

He looks down at my palms, hesitant, but places a foot inside and I start to hoist him up.

Just as he reaches his fingertips on the edge of the wall, a sound so shrill and abrupt makes me jolt. Quinlan is knocked off balance and careens down into the snow, letting out a choked cry of pain. I throw myself down to the ground with him and wrap my hand around his mouth to muffle the sound.

Through the wails of the siren, I whisper into his ear, “I’m so sorry!”

He grimaces in agony, but doesn’t fight as I pull him rather roughly to his feet.

“Come on,” I encourage as I push him up the wall once more. “You got this.”

I glance back toward the door, and finally see the camera just above it, trained right at us, giving us away. I can’t believe I didn’t check for that. They know exactly where we are.

Quinlan manages to grab hold of the top, and pull himself up with such strain that he lets out a yell mixed with pain and grit, just barely drowned out by the sirens. Once on top, he turns and stretches a hand down toward me. At his point his face is dangerously pail, and his eyes look as though he has nothing left. Reluctantly, I jump up and grab ahold. As he pulls, I kick my feet into the wall and dash up it, nearly slipping on patches of ice.

Thankfully he knows to let me go once I get my hands on the top of the wall. I pull myself up the rest of the way, and Quinlan already disappears over the other side. We both jump down, our fall somewhat padded by the powdery, virgin snow. Quinlan and I wrap our arms around each other again and stagger away as quickly as possible as the sounds of shouting begin to echo behind us.

The moon illuminates the snow in a soft glitter and guides our way toward the forest’s edge. I dare not look back as I hear the ferocious sounds of Anoobas hounds howling into the cold night, no doubt thrashing against their leashes so they can chase us down and tear us limb from limb.

More shouting follows us, then the blaster shots. Quinlan and I break into our closest approximation of a run as the laser bullets explode into the snow around our feet.

“_Almost there.” _I chant in my head, hoping the Force dampener has worn off enough for Quinlan to hear my message.

As we penetrate deeper into the forest, the light of the moon fades. We run blindly, dodging trees and sinking knee-deep into the snow with each agonizing step. Darkness creeps into the corners of my vision and exhaustion begins to take hold. I can feel Quinlan’s body becoming increasingly limp in my arms, until he’s nearly flopping like a ragdoll, along for the ride.

Figures dart past us, sailing over the snow like dancers. I feel like my mind is playing tricks, but the figures keep passing by, running toward our pursuers. I hear more shots behind me, and whip around to see those figures illuminated by the shots of their blasters. My jaw drops in shock, but before I can comprehend what’s happening, I feel a hand grip my arm.

“Keep going. Come with me. They’ll handle this.” A woman’s voice comes out of the darkness.

With her steady grip on my arm, we keep running. I feel Quinlan’s weight begin to shift off of me, and look over to see strangers supporting either side of him, their blasters bouncing in their slings.

This must be them. The Kenobi clan. Just as the nurse promised, staged and waiting for my arrival. Her end of the bargain is now met. I pray they won’t find out what she did for me. Or that she just manages to leave this God-forsaken planet.


End file.
